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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27903829">One Way (To Absolve His Crime)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fried_lemons/pseuds/Fried_lemons'>Fried_lemons</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Gravity Falls</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Abuse, Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Romance, Asexual Bill Cipher, Astral Projection, Badass Mabel Pines, Bill Cipher Being Bill Cipher, Bill is Will, Bill learning how to Human TM, BillDip, Blood and Gore, Comfort/Angst, Couch Cuddles, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Fluff, Exactly What It Says on the Tin, Flashbacks, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Getting to Know Each Other, HHAH, Heavy Angst, Human Bill Cipher, Humanoid body bill cipher, I Don't Even Know, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Lucid Dreaming, M/M, Manipulation, Medical Examination, Medical Experimentation, Medical Torture, Mutual Pining, No abusive romance i promise, PTSD, Past Abuse, Past Torture, Physical Abuse, Protective Dipper Pines, Psychic Abilities, Self-Harm, Sleepy Cuddles, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempts, The Astral Plane, The Mindscape (Gravity Falls), The twins are adults now, Touch-Starved, Triangle Bill Cipher, Trust Issues, Whump, Willbill - Freeform, axolotl, because PINE tree, bill eats a fuckton of sugar, bill gets his very own human birthday, dream visitation, haha thats kind of a pun, self-delusion, shenanigans ensue, this boi has layers like a chip dip, touch-aversion, when the tags keep comin and they wont stop comin, will get wholesomer eventually, yeah im pun trash</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 18:02:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>70,369</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27903829</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fried_lemons/pseuds/Fried_lemons</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Bill Cipher was supposed to be dead. Or at least gone. Or at least still a triangle. But nope, the universe just loved fucking with him, and now, somehow, Bill was rooming with his brother and his friend in the basement of his old shack. He needed to be dealt with.</p><p>To be fair, though, he hadn’t started a second armageddon, or rearranged anyone’s facial features, or done much more than be a pissbaby as far as he knew. Still, he shouldn’t leave it to his twin to deal with him. Sure, that’s what Ford wanted-- but it wasn’t what he needed. He would get all caught up in his scientific fantasies (which were harmless and amusing at best), he would get distracted. But going back would require the two to have a conversation, and Stan wasn’t sure he was ready for that.</p><p>Over the past few days he’d come to the conclusion that he wasn't ever going to be ready, and he might as well take himself to the shack and get it over with. Rip it off quick, like a band-aid.</p><p>Just as soon as he finished this soda.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>260</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>159</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue: A Full 180</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Sixty degrees that come in threes.</p><p>Watches from within birch trees.</p><p>Saw his own dimension burn.</p><p>Misses home and can't return.</p><p>Says he's happy. He's a liar.</p><p>Blame the arson for the fire.</p><p>If he wants to shirk the blame,</p><p>He'll have to invoke my name.</p><p>One way to absolve his crime.</p><p>A different form, a different time.</p><p>- AXOLOTL</p>
    </blockquote><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>What if Bill Cipher had a reason to hate the twins?</p><p>(Theory: Bill/Will Cipher was summoned from his dimension to serve the Reverse Pines/Gleefuls. When he escapes, he destroys their dimension and decides to go after their multidimensional alternates (hence his arrival in canon Gravity Falls.) Since Will and Bill are both short for William, he changed his nickname to Bill to avoid the memories associated with his first nickname. And we already know he is more than capable of changing his color. Dunno, just thought of this at 2 AM and thought-- hey! It'd be fun to write!)</p><p>The Pines are not evil in this universe, but Bill perceives them to be.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This one is short 'cause its the prologue, but most chapters average out about 15-20 pages</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“A-X-O-L-O-T-L! My time has come to burn! I invoke the ancient power that I may returnnruter yam I taht rewop tneicna eht ekovni I !nrub ot emoc sah emit yM !L-T-O-L-O-X-A”</p><p>First, there was fire. Not actual fire, of course, but that was the image Stan’s mind had taken to, just as he saw his own head as a house.</p><p>The memories burned.</p><p>The foundations burned.</p><p>Stan burned.</p><p>He burned.</p><p>And then he woke up.</p><p>This was a place he was familiar with, but only from hearsay. A pocket of soft clouds and color in the heart of the multiverse where the AXOLOTL lived.</p><p>So it had worked.</p><p>Now where was the--</p><p>“Hello,” said a soft voice, from behind him.</p><p>There it was. He turned and saw the large, grinning pink face of the AXOLOTL itself.</p><p>“Both of us know why you’re here. So let’s not waste time.”</p><p>“You’re going to send me back? Just like that?”</p><p>It’s smile never wavered. “I don’t think you’re going to like it very much, but yes. I am going to punish you.”</p><p>It gathered balls of cloud beneath its webbed hands, and sent them floating toward him. They didn’t hurt, only tickled lightly, as the AXOLOTL worked its magic.</p><p>With a bolt of terror, he recognized what he was becoming.</p><p>“What are you--”</p><p>“You know the rules. ‘Another form, another time.’ Your last time.”</p><p>“No! Not this body! Not-- not this! I-- I swear, if you send me back to the Gleefuls I’ll come back again, like last time.”</p><p>“I can’t send you back there because their universe is dead. They destroyed your dimension and you destroyed theirs. And then you moved on to another. That’s hardly fair.”</p><p>The clouds constricted around him.</p><p>“Fair? You wanna talk about fair? I was enslaved!”</p><p>“If I stopped to help every little thing like you, Yroo, then how could I maintain the multiverse? Mend the rifts your kind insist on tearing again and again?”</p><p>“If you’re not sending me there, then why am I-- like this?”</p><p>“Because you are going to spend the rest of your life in service to the beings you tried to kill.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Some Sunny Day</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I’m a bit nervous about getting this right, but the only thing to do is dive in and get typin’!</p><p>Wish me luck from the future!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>He found himself waking up </span>
  <em>
    <span>again</span>
  </em>
  <span>, unable to remember just when he’d lost consciousness. He was laying on some grass, probably. The sun was burning into his eyelid. He wasn’t sure if he could get up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t seem to float, which was unusual, and he… he wasn’t a triangle anymore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the Gleefuls, another universe’s Pines, had summoned him they had only let him retain his true form for a day or so. After all, they couldn’t have a flying triangle following them around town doing their bidding. And the AXOLOTL had put him right back in that body.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Two legs, two arms, one working eye, normal human-y things. At least the AXOLOTL had had the decency to give him clothes, and although it was the same damned suit at least it wasn’t blue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If he saw his old shade of blue again, he would probably do that human thing where their insides came out of their mouths. Same with his original name.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What this meant for the immediate future was that he had a physical form and was actually going to have to get himself up with muscles and stuff. He didn’t really remember how to do that. Oh well, it would come to him eventually. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill heaved himself over onto his stomach, possibly inhaled some dirt, and levered his arms underneath himself to get into a sort of sitting position.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was at the top of a very familiar hill, surrounded by very familiar birch trees, not far from a very familiar town.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill managed to stand himself up and dust himself off. Old Frilly be damned, he wasn’t going back to being the Pines slave. Just because he was basically immortal doesn’t mean things don’t hurt. This universe’s Pine Tree and Shooting Star might think they’re All That And More, but they couldn’t be any better. They’d show their true colors to someone under their power, and Bill was not going to be that being.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had two options now. Walk as far away from here as he could (and hope he wasn’t still contained to the Falls, which, honestly, he probably was) or go and try his hand at killing them again. If all else failed he could do it the way humans did, with-- with sticks and things.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had one more finger than he was used to, but these hands were pretty run of the mill, easy to handle (pun intended.) He tried snapping his fingers. Summoning fire. Summoning energy. No luck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wobbled over to the nearest tree (he hated walking, it was overrated) and managed to pick up a sizable stick. He imagined it covered in the Pines’ blood. Beautiful, wet, red. Sixer and Shadow and Star and Tree.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill hefted the stick somewhat awkwardly and made his way toward the Mystery Shack.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now that the twins had graduated high school, they were coming to spend another summer (and perhaps more) in Gravity Falls, Oregon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their Grunkles had retired from their adventuring for now, much to Stan’s protest. But now that the twins were grown and had that shiny new Adult Autonomy, Dipper was free to start his apprenticeship with Ford, and Mable was free to tag along as much as she liked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Soos, of course, still ran the Shack as apprentice-turned-Mr. Mystery, so the two sets of twins were holed up in the Gravity Falls Hotel. It was the first day since that fateful summer that the five of them managed to be in the same town at the same time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which basically guaranteed something weird was going to happen. Dipper tried to keep from speculating. He knew that no matter what, it wouldn’t be what he was expecting. Gravity Falls had a way of keeping its residents on its toes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Although they had their own rooms, he could hear Mabel shrieking through the thin wall, reuniting with Candy and Grenda. He thought about looking for Wendy, but decided not to. They were friends, but things had never quite recovered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He really did need to get out of his room, though. He’d been cramped in the car the night before for hours, trading off driving duty with Mabel. After that Dipper had crashed for the night, in the same t-shirt and jeans he was still wearing. That was too much inside for him, and although he usually didn’t mind, he was back in Gravity Falls now. The one place that really and actually felt like home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He floundered in his backpack for a granola bar, then slung it over his shoulder as he stepped out the door. He cast a last glance at the clock. 9 AM already.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dipper was a bit torn. He could go to Greasy's Diner, or the Shack, or anywhere. But especially tempting was the woods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not that he was going to wander in unprepared. His backpack, a new, military-grade one he’d bought just last week, was filled with enough water bottles and granola bars to last him weeks, plus iodine pills if he needed to disinfect lakewater to drink. He also had a compass, his own small journal, a Swiss Army knife he really should have gotten the hang of by now, and a small stun baton clipped to his belt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, if his twelve-year-old self has survived Weirdmaggedon, he was pretty sure a hiking trip wasn’t going to do him in. Still, it would be pretty ironic if he died in some mundane way on his first day back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taking in that sweet, first breath of fresh air, Dipper felt himself relax.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sun was out, the air was crisp but not cold, and a faint breeze rattled the trees like wooden applause. It might get chilly deeper into the woods, but now, as Dipper took his first steps onto the soft, needle-laden ground, there were plenty of patches of sun.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could hear the leaves rustling as he stepped over them, the shuffling of local creatures and cryptids going about their days, and screaming.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Screaming?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instinctively, Dipper reached for his baton.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a man at the top of the hill, wielding a large stick. He threw it. The stick did not land within five feet of Dipper. This shut the man up for maybe a second and a half, before he bent down and picked up a rock.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dipper let go of the baton and lifted his hands in the universal gesture for peace. “Hey, hey! What’s going on?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man came stumbling down the bank, lobbing the rock at him once he’d made it closer. It flew far left.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t come any closer!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His words were ignored. So he unclipped the baton from his belt and switched it on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man had about an inch on Dipper, though that could have been accounted for by his fluffy blond hair. He didn’t have much muscle, though he made up for that in the fear department with an unhinged grin and the odd way he walked, somewhere between a toddler and a very high old man. Dipper could say this with certainty, since he had seen both.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dipper poked the man in the chest with the baton, and his grin disappeared. His knees buckled out from under him as the electricity pulsed into his body, spilling unceremoniously to the ground.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All this was concerning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even more concerning, though, was what the man said next. Sprawled over the grass, he curled in on himself as the last of the electricity released his muscles. “Fuck… you… Pine Tree.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Some Sunny Day (p2)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>praisetheaxolotl on Tumblr has a great post that goes through several examples in the show, lines of dialogue, and in the published journals in which Bill self-harms or mentions wanting to, I’d recommend checking it out if it’s not too much of a trigger for you.</p><p>https://praisetheaxolotl.tumblr.com/post/154922002066/bill-isnt-masochistic</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“WHAT?” Mable shrieked into the phone, loud enough to hurt even though Dipper was holding it well away from himself. “HOLD ON, I'M CALLING THE GRUNKLES! DON’T YOU DARE DIE!”</p><p>    The Grunkles. Dipper probably should have thought of them first.</p><p>    He looked down at The-Man-That-Was-Probably-Bill. He hadn’t gotten up yet, but was glaring up at Dipper with a one-eyed scowl. See, there were just too many things to be a coincidence. The yellow suit, the one good eye, ‘Pine Tree.’ Except…</p><p>    Why wasn’t Dipper dead yet?</p><p>    “So, you got me, huh?” Probably-Bill said. “Whatcha gonna do?”</p><p>    What were they going to do? Shoot him? They certainly couldn’t let him walk free.</p><p>    “You’re not that much of a coward, Pine Tree. I know you better than that. So, whatcha gonna do with me?”</p><p>    “You tell me. You’re the one that can see the future.”</p><p>    Probably-Definitely-Bill tried to kick Dipper in the ankle. Unfortunately for him, his aim had not magically improved in the past two minutes, and Dipper didn’t even have to move.</p><p>    Bill picked himself back off the ground with some difficulty. The searing pain in his muscles was new. He wasn’t sure how he felt about it. Pain was a sensation he did not often experience, unless he possessed a body, and then he preferred to administer it himself.</p><p>    Pine Tree had no right to hurt him with his fancy human electricity stick. Bill reached for the proper word and came up empty. Well, it didn’t matter, did it? What mattered was that Pine Tree had decided he would hurt Bill whenever he felt like it, and this made Bill right. Right that the Pines were just as worthy of destruction as the old Gleefuls. Their last names may have changed, but they were Still Pine Tree, still Shooting Star, still Shadow, still Sixer.</p><p>    This was going to have to end now. Pine Tree was so close. Bill could just strangle him or something.</p><p>    Except he had the baton. So Bill couldn’t. There was no feasible way he could be expected to in this state, in this form.</p><p>    He felt a tightness in him relax, oddly enough. He wasn’t sure why.</p><p>    It was only him and Pine Tree here, but not for long. Soon, bright, loud Shooting Star would arrive. He remembered her clearly, her obsession with things that were sharp and shiny. And the older two…</p><p>    Bill started away again in the direction he had come. He would have to change direction once or twice, get as far away as he could. And then he would think up a new plan. And then he would get them.</p><p>    <em> ZAP! </em></p><p>He found himself face-down on the ground again, filled with that strange burning sensation. He remembered burning. It was kind of fun, if you did it just right, just a bit of you at a time. But he hadn’t had a host to do it with in a long, long while.</p><p>    “You’re not going anywhere,” Pine Tree said. If Bill wasn’t mistaken, there was a quaver in his voice.</p><p>    Pine Tree was still afraid of him. Well, that wasn’t going to last long.</p><p>    “DIPPER!”</p><p>    Mabel was sprinting full-pelt through the trees, her grappling hook in one hand. She held onto it tightly enough to whiten her knuckles. Behind her were the two Grunkles, who had only ditched the car because the trees were too thick to permit one any further.</p><p>    Mabel was terrified. And she was mad. So mad she could run forever. Behind her, Stan wielded a baseball bat and Ford a fancy, quantumy gun, and if they had managed to stop Bill once before, they were sure as hell going to do it again.</p><p>    Except… it wasn’t the triangle? Just a slightly-overdressed man crumpled on the ground like a -12$ bill.</p><p>    “MABEL!”</p><p>    She found herself slowing as she reached him-- not the dramatic, swooping, rescue she had imagined, but vastly preferable since he seemed to be all in one piece.</p><p>    “What’s going on?” she asked, side-eyeing the immobile man on the ground.</p><p>    “That’s him,” Dipper said.</p><p>    “The hell?” The Grunkles had caught up to them, Stan pushing his way between the younger twins to get a better look. “You’re saying <em> this </em> is Bill?” He glanced at Ford. “Is that possible?”</p><p>    Ford did not say anything. His gun was at his side, but his finger was still on the trigger as he bent down to get a better look. Bill sprang into motion again, punching Ford in the jaw and dislodging his glasses.</p><p>    His still-staticky laugh gave him away completely.</p><p>    Ford leveled the particle destabilizer. “BILL CIPHER, that is ENOUGH!”</p><p>    The laugh skipped like a record and died. Bill’s eye flicked up to meet Ford’s. </p><p>    “So,” he said, after a moment, “Did you miss me?”</p><p>    “How are--why--” Ford shook his head, “what do you want?”</p><p>    “You dead.”</p><p>    His finger tightened on the trigger. He waited for the moment to come. The attack, the fire, the transformation, anything. But it didn’t.</p><p>    “Bill,” Ford said, carefully. “What’s going on?”</p><p>    Mabel folded her sweater arms. “Who are you possessing?”</p><p>    “Me, dipshit.”</p><p>    “Get out of that body!”</p><p>    “Mabel,” Stan warned.</p><p>    But Bill did not move. He certainly did not reappear in triangle form from the mind of his current body in a cloud of nightmarish spectre. He just… stared at them.</p><p>    “I can’t,” he said, finally. “Happy?”</p><p>    “You can’t.” Ford repeated. His brows knit together.</p><p>    Mabel glanced up at her brother, who had been oddly silent this whole time. He was scribbling at an alarming pace in a small notebook, the chewed up cap of a pen in his mouth. That was a good sign.</p><p>    Mabel herself felt very much like punching Bill, and also like running, and also taking an emergency ticket to Sweater Town. She did none of those things. Instead she resolved to reschedule her Panic Time (if she was still alive) because something really really really important had just occurred to her.</p><p>    “We need to get out of here,” she said, “Someone’s going to see the car and come after us and then…” </p><p>    Well, she didn’t need to elaborate, did she? Their imaginations would do the job just fine.</p><p>    “I’m not going anywhere with you,” Bill said. He’d shuffle-crawled a few feet away before Stan brandished the bat at him.</p><p>    “Yes, you are,” Ford said. He walked over to Bill and showed him the barrel of the gun. “This is a quantum particle destabilizer.”</p><p>    “Uh-huh. And?”</p><p>    “This is capable of destroying your pure energy body. I don’t know what kind of game you think you’re playing right now, but I promise it won’t end well if you make me use this.” </p><p>    Bill’s eye wandered over to the glint of banged-up metal that showed between the trees. “So I have to come with you.”</p><p>    “Exactly.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. some shitty cover art</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <a href="https://www.deviantart.com/luxxydraws/art/Yroo-863308152?ga_submit_new=10%3A1607281514">https://www.deviantart.com/luxxydraws/art/Yroo-863308152?ga_submit_new=10%3A1607281514 </a>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Into the Basement</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The ride had been tense, Stan driving but hardly keeping his eyes on the road between backward glances. When they got back to Shack, the silence continued. They all got out of the car and just kind of stood there, outside the unicorn hair barrier.</p><p>Bill adjusted his bowtie. “So, whatcha waiting for?”</p><p>“Are we going to let him in the Shack?” Dipper frowned.</p><p>“If he can’t get in, then he can’t get out once we reseal it,” Ford considered, “But no.”</p><p>“Then what <em> are </em> we going to do with him?”</p><p>Ford looked down at the gun.</p><p>“Gonna shoot me, huh?” Bill grinned, “Go ahead. Do it.”</p><p>“What are you playing at, Cipher?”</p><p>He leaned back into the barrier, letting it hold his weight. “Nothing. Go ahead and kill me, if you have the guts.”</p><p>The small, red laser aim never left Bill’s chest. Seconds dragged on into a full minute, and his smile nearly split his face. </p><p>“Hah! Can’t do it, can you? I know you have bigger plans, Sixer.”</p><p>“Give me the gun,” Stan offered.</p><p>Ford shook his head. “Kids, go get Soos.”</p><p>***</p><p>“Dipper! Hambone!” Soos smiled from behind the counter. “How are you dudes?”</p><p>“Thanks for asking,” Mabel said, “probably horribly because <em> he’s </em> back.”</p><p>“What’s so bad about Stan?”</p><p>Dipper glanced around the gift shop. There were a few people, but none of them were citizens of the Falls. So saying his name wasn’t likely to induce a town-wide panic. “Not Stan. Bill.”</p><p>The color drained from Soos’ face. “Oh.”</p><p>“He’s not <em> exactly </em> the same as you remember, though,” Dipper said. He glanced down at the notebook in his hands out of instinct-- but what had happened was plenty clear in his mind.</p><p>Mabel interrupted him. “Come see for yourself.”</p><p>Outside, the little standoff was still going.</p><p>“Hey Question Mark!”</p><p>“Woah. You’re all…” Soos gestured vaguely, “person-y now. Wait.” He narrowed his eyes. “Who’s body is that?”</p><p>“Mine, unfortunately! I don’t know how much you remember about my not-death,” he reached out to poke Stan, but thought better of it, “but you can’t get rid of me that easily.”</p><p>“Question?” Soos said.</p><p>“Mark. Yeah?”</p><p>“Why haven’t you killed us all yet?”</p><p>“<em>Soos,”</em> Mabel hissed, elbowing him sharply.</p><p>“Dunno,” Bill shrugged, “Guess I don’t feel like it right now.”</p><p>Soos scratched the back of his neck. “Also, why did you dudes come get me for this?”</p><p>“Because you’re our friend,” Mabel said.</p><p>“Because we need to put him in the basement,” Ford said.</p><p>“My basement?”</p><p>“Yep.”</p><p>“Well uh, don’t let him kill me.”</p><p>“We’ll do our best,” Stan said.</p><p>“That’s… not very comforting. I’ll go close up shop.”</p><p>Dipper went into the Shack to displace one of the unicorn hairs while the others kept an eye on Bill. Apparently they <em> were </em> bringing him in the Shack now, to Ford’s basement lab. Hopefully he’d have something there to deal with him.</p><p>***</p><p>Bill had only really been in here once before, and mostly in Pine Tree’s body. Come to think of it, Pine Tree and Shooting Star were a lot taller now.</p><p>It was familiar enough. The gift shop, the viewing space full of lovely atrocities. The kitchen and the staircase that led to Pine Tree’s old room.</p><p>But he was unprepared for the sheer amount of sensory input that came his way.</p><p>For instance, he could smell some of the displays from the doorway, and they smelled Bad with a capital B. But he had no other words to describe them, or the odd sensation of smooth, hard ground underneath his feet, or the sticky heat of the air around him.</p><p>They marched him over to a large metal box. He mentally searched for the word again, but couldn’t find the thread in his brain that let him access what he needed to know. Did the AXOLOTL take that too? Was that really necessary?</p><p>The box was full of human food on little shelves, behind a wall of sticky glass. Since it was back there, it didn’t seem to be for eating. Maybe the Pines used it to show off to the other humans. ‘Ha, ha, we have food and you don’t.’ </p><p>Seemed like something they would do.</p><p>Sixer punched five buttons on the side of it, and it slid open, revealing a hall. They forced him down it, Shadow holding his arms behind his back. Bill twisted his head to see if the food was on the other side of the box, but that was a wall, too.</p><p>But wondering about that, as exciting and weird as human food was, wasn’t enough to distract him from a very visceral and odd sensation in his middle.</p><p>They were going to the basement.</p><p>Bill hated the basement.</p><p>And it wasn’t as if he even had magic anymore. In the other universe, at least he knew if he could get away he could use it. But now? He was pretty much fucked.</p><p>The hall led to a small box, and all the Pines crammed into it, shoulders pressing uncomfortably into him. He twisted his jaw at the constriction. At least the Pines didn’t seem too thrilled about it either.</p><p>Then the floor dropped below them.</p><p>
  <em> Ding! </em>
</p><p>The little box opened again, and there they were. The basement.</p><p>Fuck.</p><p>It definitely looked different from the Gleefuls’, but that was to be expected. Everything in this universe was a little to the left, even down to Pitt Soda, which had been called Peach Soda. At least the brand had some originality here.</p><p>There was a big open space with a few doorways to the left and right, and a big window just ahead of them, exposing a yawning blackness where the portal had been. The air smelled very… sharp? Clean. Familiar. Terrifying.</p><p>Bill wondered if the lab was still on the second door to the left. Thankfully, that wasn’t the door Sixer opened. Instead he stuck Bill in some kind of back office.</p><p>“Seriously?” Bill said.</p><p>“Would you rather I shot you?”</p><p>“Fair point.” He looked around the room. Old desk, old papers, old, smelly carpet. “I bet I could set most of this on fire.”</p><p>“Then do it.” It was Sixer’s turn to call Bill’s bluff. “You can’t leave your body. You can’t use your powers. That’s… interesting.”</p><p>Sixer finding anything about him interesting was very, very bad.</p><p>Sixer glanced at Pine Tree. “You’re writing this down?”</p><p>“Yep.”</p><p>“Good.”</p><p>“So,” he started. He didn’t seem to notice or care that Shadow had left. Shooting Star was holding the bat now, standing protectively beside her brother. “What happened to you?”</p><p>He wasn’t sure how to answer that. Or if he wanted to. Or if he should. He flailed in his mind for a counterquestion.</p><p>“What do you want with me?”</p><p>“To keep Gravity Falls safe from you.”</p><p>“What about your lab?” Bill challenged, “The least you can do is give me some forewarning.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>Shooting Star raised the bat a hair. “What do you want with Grunkle Ford’s lab?”</p><p>Bill wondered how hard she would hit him if he provoked her. He wondered what it would feel like. “Nothing,” he said.</p><p>“What’s going on?” Sixer demanded. He pushed the muzzle of the disperser into Bill’s chest.</p><p>Pine Tree’s pencil whispered quickly across his notepad.</p><p>Whatever Bill told them could give them an advantage over him. And no matter what he said, it wouldn’t be enough. Sixer would still drag him back to his lab and play his little games.</p><p>He closed his eyes.</p><p>The scribbling pencil slowed, then stopped.</p><p>“Bill,” Sixer said, again.</p><p>He didn’t move. They would leave, eventually.</p><p>A minute and a half of awkward stillness and stilted breathing.</p><p>“Fine. If you’re not going to cooperate, we’ll come back later.” The gun’s pressure vanished. A door opened, and footsteps shuffled out. “Mabel, did we keep any of the extra unicorn hair?”</p><p>The door clunked shut, and a key clicked in the lock.</p><p>It was funny, no, hilarious, that they were using something as simple as a little lock against him. Especially since it was going to work.</p><p>Bill gave up on standing (it was annoying anyway) and let himself fall to the floor with a heavy thud. Dull pain radiated through his back.</p><p>He stared at the dark gray of the ceiling and tried not to think about the future.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Let's Make a Deal</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>"Ooh, but easy with the tongue, son, try to listen carefully<br/>What you've seen's scary, but nothing when compared to me<br/>I could show you things to paint all your dreams haunted<br/>I could make you scream if I wanted<br/>Or I can be the bee in your bonnet, your best friend forever<br/>Two peas in a pod flockin' like birds of a feather<br/>And you never have a need to beg, work, or steal<br/>If all this sounds worth it then let's make a deal."</p><p>- Devil's Train by The Lab Rats</p><p>^^ not related to the chapter but it reminded me of bill</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Dipper followed his Grunkle out of the side office. It had been an empty storage room for Grunkle Ford’s specimens, but he’d redone it to be Dipper’s workspace during his apprenticeship.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But apparently Bill fucking Cipher was using it now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stan was waiting just outside the door, and nearly grabbed Ford by his coat collar before restraining himself. “Why didn’t you shoot him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In front of the kids?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kids? Hardly. The twins were turning nineteen this summer. Although one could argue their childhood innocence was long gone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dipper fidgeted with his pen, trying to refrain from clicking it and drawing attention to himself and Mabel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re worried about THAT traumatizing them? Hah. Come on, I know you better than that.” Stan stepped back a little, and the tension eased a fraction. “What’s the real reason?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, we’re not kids anymore Grunkle Ford.” Mabel stood a little straighter, as if to prove her point. She grinned in a teasing way, but her white knuckles around the bat’s handle gave her anxiety away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dipper indulged himself in a few nervous pen clicks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If he’s managed to come back once, he could do it again! At least he’s not much of a threat right now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Or maybe he’ll die properly,” Stan argued.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“With some time, I might be able to figure out which outcome is most accurate.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stan laughed darkly. “There’s the reason. You wanna study the demon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Interdimesnional being.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Potayto potahto, Stanford.” He turned on his heel. “Give me the gun when you’ve returned to the land of the sane. I’d be happy to do it for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Grunkle Ford,” Dipper started.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t turn around, watching Stan leave with Mabel trailing after him. “We can get rid of him as soon as I’m sure it’s safe. In the meantime…” he sighed, “what am I saying? You and your sister know how to take care of yourselves.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he made his way across the metal tile to his own private office. Dipper watched Ford press a few spaces in the wall and step back as it slid silently open into a space not even Stan knew about.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Leaving him alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dipper flipped his notebook shut before his sweaty fingers could smudge the ink. He could try to talk to Ford. He could go upstairs and listen to the rant Stan was undoubtedly giving right now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or he could keep standing here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shoved the notebook into his coat. Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced through the little window in the door, expecting Bill to be staring right at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, he was sprawled out on the floor with his eyes closed.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Dipper waited a minute or three. Bill still didn’t move.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Was this some kind of trap? To lure him in the room with him?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then again, what was he going to do, try to kick Dipper in the shin again? If Bill was going to use his powers he definitely would have before now. Right?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dipper opened the door quietly, the handle cold in his palm. Bill didn’t so much as twitch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Was he sleeping? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Could</span>
  </em>
  <span> he even sleep?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a bit hard to tell whether his good eye was open, covered by a wayward lock of hair. The other one was patched over so he didn’t know if it was even intact. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dipper edged a few steps forward, keeping his feet light on the faux wood floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill had freckles. That struck him as weird. He never would have imagined human Bill having freckles-- but he never would have imagined the triangle as human anyway. He was splayed awkwardly on the ground, as if he’d been dropped there like a ragdoll, his chest moving gently up and down, and the hair on his face moving ever so slightly when he exhaled. Which meant he was breathing. Which meant he needed to breathe…?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Did that make him mortal? Human? Or was it just to appear more so?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dipper thumbed through his notebook for a blank page.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you want, Pine Tree?” Bill snapped. “I’m trying to focus.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He froze for a moment. “On what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Doesn’t matter.” Bill dragged himself upright. “So, you’ve come to harass me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh. No? I just was… wondering what you were doing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill raised an eyebrow at him, but otherwise stayed still. That was a good sign, right? Dipper felt his chest loosen ever so slightly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nope nopity no, this was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> the time to relax. He fished around his pocket for his pen. He needed to write this down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you--” Bill began, his voice hitching when Dipper withdrew the pen. He clicked it once and started writing.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Breathing???</span>
  </em>
  <span> he wrote.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He paused, looked up. “What was I what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nevermind.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have to tell us something eventually, right? Might as well start here. I mean, it’s not like it’s a very high-risk question.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tilted his head at Dipper. “I thought you might have a knife and were going to stab me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Was that supposed to be sarcastic?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill gave him a deadpan look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jeez, paranoid much?” Maybe being an all-powerful deity did that to you. Wondering when the inevitable would come along and strike you down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wouldn’t say that.” Bill’s voice darkened as the sentence ended in a way that reminded Dipper of his more demonic side. Low, echoing voice, suffocating grip, death-black eye staring them down, deciding which one of them to kill.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>EENIE, MEENIE, MINEY-- Y̶̫̪̒̆͆̚͜O̴̥͑͐̍Ủ̶͈̭̕͝.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, you still in there, Pine Tree?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t call me that!” Dipper snapped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His face felt wet. And his hand. There was ink in his mouth, metallic and sour. He spat blue onto the floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that a normal thing for you? ‘Cause I have a feeling that stuff’s not edible.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dipper shook his head, and let the ruined pen drop. He would take care of the mess when he got his own damn office back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He reached back into his pocket. At least he always kept a spare.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Heeey, you don’t happen to actually have a knife in there, do you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? No. Why would I try to stab you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill leaned back on his hands. “I can think of a few reasons off the top of my head. Not that you’d need one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not everyone’s a psychopath like you, Bill.” He gave up trying to find another pen in the mess of trinkets in his pocket. Mostly Mabel's hairpins and crap she kept leaving everywhere.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned to leave.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Waitwaitwait!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He side-eyed Bill. “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t leave yet-- I have some questions.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dipper crossed his arms. “So do we, and you’re not answering.” He found himself grinning. “Hey Bill, let’s make a deal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? Wait, seriously?” He looked down at his hands, “I’m not sure if I--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not talking about a demon deal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m</span>
  <em>
    <span> not</span>
  </em>
  <span> a demon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dipper ignored him. “You answer my questions, and I’ll answer yours. Fair?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill was frowning, but his interest was clearly piqued. His body language was much easier to read when he wasn’t a 2D geometrical shape. “How do I know you’ll hold up your end?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess you’ll just have to trust me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill bit his lip, then held out a black-gloved hand. “What the hell, why not?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No shaking,” Dipper said, erring on the side of caution although the hand hadn’t erupted in blue flames, “but yes. Deal?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Deal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Questions. He needed questions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Start with the obvious, he decided. “How did you come back?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Easy,” Bill grinned. “I just wished upon the AXOLOTL.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You mean that salamander type thing? From Mexico?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not </span>
  <em>
    <span>an</span>
  </em>
  <span> axolotl, </span>
  <em>
    <span>The</span>
  </em>
  <span> AXOLOTL. Don’t you have some fancy journal entry for it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dipper made a mental note to check. It’d be far from surprising given everything else that went down in Gravity Falls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you still have your magic?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Isn’t it my turn to ask a question?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll take that as a no.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill scrunched up his eyebrows, looking comically annoyed. “Fine. No, I don’t think so. Old Frilly really fucked me over.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The AXOLOTL, goddamit!”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oookay then.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Dipper waited a moment for Bill to calm down, then hedged another question. “What do you want here? Another Weirdmageddon?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That pause was very reassuring,” he said sarcastically. He drummed his fingers against his notebook. “Are you planning to hurt anyone?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I was, why would I tell you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because we made a deal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill chuckled darkly. “And what have I got to show for it? What are </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> planning? ‘Cause you’ve got me here in your little office all nice and helpless.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His shoulders were hunched and his head was tipped toward the floor where he was playing with a bit of wood splinter. But his eye was fixed on Dipper’s face with an intensity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know,” he said, mostly honestly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t lie very well, Pine Tree.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dipper chewed on his lip. “Gru-- Stanford has some questions for you too. That’s all I know.” And maybe some research plans. But he was Dipper’s Grunkle. He wasn’t going to do anything bad.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill wouldn’t trust that coming from Dipper, or any of them. Besides, it was nice to see the Ex-All-Seeing-Eye anxious for once.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill was still staring at Dipper. His eyes flickered down, once, to the stun baton on Dipper’s belt. He sighed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” Dipper said, “things could be worse. You could have had your dimension terrorized.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I did.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“By someone other than you.” He reached for the door again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, but it wasn’t me, Pine Tree..."
</span></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Stan Discovers Anime</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“That motherf-- that idiot is supposed to be dead!”</p><p>Mabel clutched the sleeves of her purple sweater between her fingers. The baseball bat was lying on the floor by the couch. She’d thought it might be best for Stan not to be near it.</p><p>“And he shows up back here? Expecting us to what, take him in?”</p><p>“Uhm, dudes? What’s going on?” Soos came down the stairs.</p><p>“Soos! Where were you?” Mabel said. She felt a pang of guilt that she hadn’t noticed he’d gone.</p><p>“You were busy dealing with the triangle dude and he kinda gives me the creeps, so I went upstairs for a bit.” He gestured with his thumb.</p><p>Mabel shrugged apologetically. “Sorry this mess is in your house right now.”</p><p>“Nah, it’s cool, as long as I can keep running the Shack. And he doesn't start a  mini Weirdmaggedon in it… although that <em> would </em> be a good tourist attraction.”</p><p>“Heh. Yeah, Bill shouldn’t be bothering us for much longer,” Stan said.</p><p>Soos looked taken aback. “You dudes are gonna kill him?”</p><p>Stand leaned against the kitchen counter, tired. “What else are we supposed to do?”</p><p>“I dunno. Keep him down there or something? Killing’s kinda bad, you know.”</p><p>“Is it, compared to what he’s done? Could still do?”</p><p>“Let’s just calm down,” Mabel said, “I’m sure Grunkle Ford will figure it out.”</p><p>“Course he will,” Stan said. One of the hackjob cupboards creaked open and he slammed it shut again, hard enough to set the plates inside rattling. He stormed past the both of them. “I’m gonna watch some TV.”</p><p>Mabel watched him go, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She’d known there would be supernatural trouble sooner or later --her brother couldn’t keep himself out of it-- but she hadn’t expected it to be so soon, or so conflicting.</p><p>“If there’s anything we can do to make up for this--” she started.</p><p>“It’s okay. You dudes didn’t make any of this happen. It’s not like I’m using your Grunkles’ creepy basement anyway.</p><p>“Why is it all ani--aneemay?” Stan shouted from the other room. “The hell is a Nayrutoo? Where’s all the good stuff?”</p><p>“That <em> is </em> the good stuff, Mr. Pines,” Soos shouted back.</p><p>“Ugh. Kids these days.”</p><p>“Plus, I haven’t seen you dudes in forever,” he said to her, “I missed you.”</p><p>Mabel found herself grinning, despite everything. “We missed you too, Soos.”</p><p>“Speaking of, where’s Dipper? I have the journals for him.”</p><p>“Probably with Grunkle Ford. I’m sure he’ll come up and say hello when he can.”</p><p>After the effects of Weirdmaggedon had been reversed, things had gone back to normal. People were turned back from stone to flesh, monsters disappeared, and things that Bill’s magic had burned or destroyed were returned to their original forms.</p><p>It had still been a pain to find the journals. She and Dipper had had no dice the summer before, but Soos had managed to find them by some miracle.</p><p>“Where did you find them anyway?”</p><p>“Stanford’s secret office.”</p><p>“Wait, he has a secret office?”</p><p>“Yeah. I was looking for a new break room a while ago and found it. ‘Cept there were jars of like, poison and dead animal parts and stuff.” Soos shuddered. “There was this decapitated head thing. Looked like Larry King… and sounded like him too.”</p><p>“Freaky.”</p><p>“Yeah. I think I’m gonna go make some comfort nachos. Want any?”</p><p>She glanced at the vending machine. “No thanks.”</p><p>“More for me then!”</p><p>“Enjoy!” She gave Soos a last smile and a little wave, and headed off to find her brother in case he was getting up to anything stupid. Which, to be honest, he probably was.</p><p>***</p><p>“Wait, what?”</p><p>“Two sets of twins, actually. Two great uncles and a pair of little monsters. And in case this is still going over your head, it was you.”</p><p>Bill felt himself smiling. But in a cold, odd, stiff way that felt like it didn’t quite fit</p><p>“It was all of you. You played with things you shouldn’t have, summoned me, stole my magic, and <em> then </em>you had the audacity to order me around, like I couldn’t wipe you off the face of the damn multiverse if your deal broke.” He smiled wider. “Guess what I’ve been doing for the last century.”</p><p>First the twins Gleeful, and then he followed their threads, chasing flickers of soul through each universe and scaring them off to the next world and the next.</p><p>Pine Tree was staring at him. “What are you saying?”</p><p>The door flew open, slamming into the wall and rebounding, revealing a seething, eavesdropping Shooting Star. “This is one of your mind games, isn’t it?”</p><p>His grin abandoned him, but he fought not to let it show in his voice. “Shooting Star! It’s been a while.”</p><p>She ignored him, grabbing her twin by the wrist. “Come on.”</p><p>“I--”</p><p>“He’s manipulating you, dumdum.”</p><p>“Kids.” The scuffle stopped at the sound of Sixer’s voice. Pine Tree’s notebook had fallen, trapped under Shooting Star’s foot. “What are you doing in here?”</p><p>The twins spoke at once.</p><p>“I was just asking some questions!” </p><p>“I came to get him!”</p><p>Sixer fixed a glare on Pine Tree, “none of you should be talking to him alone,” and then to Shooting Star, “or at all. Not yet. Go upstairs, or back to the hotel or something. I have some work to do.”</p><p>“Can I help? Technically I’m your apprentice so--”</p><p>“Not now. Maybe soon.”</p><p>They were leaving, they were leaving him alone with Sixer. The man he had watched, and known, and hated. And yet he’d had to smile and laugh with him, and indulge his fantasies, just so long as he built the portal.</p><p>Maybe he hadn’t seemed so bad. He’d been a nice kid. But Bill had seen how he looked at his specimens and experiments, and he saw old Sixer in that flippant, uncaring thirst for answers.</p><p>So he’d turned up the charm; he’d made Sixer adore him. Just until Bill didn’t need him anymore, until he was sure there was no possible way he would need Sixer, no possible way Sixer could get his hands on him.</p><p>It was funny, how stupid he’d been.</p><p>Sixer stepped into the room with Bill. On his hip was the quantum particle disperser. His gloved hand hovered just above it.</p><p>“Cipher. Come with me.”</p><p>
  <em> No. </em>
</p><p>“<em>Cipher</em>.”</p><p>That warning tone was bad. Always bad. But he didn’t have to listen to it, he could still--</p><p>The hand picked up the gun.</p><p>“Come on. I’m not going to kill you. Unless I have to.”</p><p>Bill glanced around for something to use. Pine Tree’s ruined pen. An old folder.</p><p>He couldn’t go up against this Sixer. The old one had his magic, this one had guns and experience and his own healthy dose of vengefulness.</p><p>Bill stood up. </p><p>His hands folded behind his back immediately, and his shoulders straightened, like the Gleefuls used to have him do. He couldn’t quite muster the courage to bring them back down.</p><p>“Good. Now, come out here.” With his free hand, Sixer gestured to the outside.</p><p>Bill found himself catching Pine Tree’s eye. He couldn’t say anything.</p><p>He would be punished.</p><p>There would be no help from Pine Tree. He wasn’t that stupid to hope for it, was he? Pine Tree was still Pine Tree, was still Mason Dipper Gleeful, had been Master, should be dead.</p><p>Bill felt like he might not be able to keep standing for much longer. He made himself walk.</p><p>The air outside the little office seemed a fraction colder.</p><p>The walk wasn’t long. They were only going to the second door on the left.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. A New Development</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Me, realizing it was a particle destabilizer and not a particle distributor</p><p>Le fuck-up</p><p>anyways im gonna try and make these longer</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Ford only really had two things he was sure of about Bill. He needed to keep him away from his family, and he needed to figure out what had happened to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As they walked the few steps from one room to another, he kept one eye on Bill and one hand on the distributor. He couldn’t afford any mistakes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He felt a bit safer once they entered his lab, albeit marginally. He’d had it protected, magically and technologically, during his time working in it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill made it to the doorway and stopped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cipher. All the way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took a single, small step forward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Ford pulled him the rest of the way inside, Bill almost tripping over himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What was that for?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ford picked up a tablet and clicked it on. “Nothing. Here, get on the table.” He gestured to a small medical table. He’d had to use it for the twins after Weirdmageddon-- the hospital hadn’t managed to open for almost a week afterward and there had been no time for waiting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked at Bill until he finally, begrudgingly, sat himself on the table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” Ford said, absentmindedly. He opened one of the drawers that held his medical stuff. Most of it had been adapted multiple times for use on the various cryptids he’d found in Gravity Falls, but he’d be damned if he didn’t have at least a stethoscope.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ah, here we go.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He put it around his neck and turned around. “Do you know what this is?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then you know what I’m going to do with it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another nod.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No funny business then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ford took the few steps over to Bill across the white tile, and reached out to place a hand on his back. He flinched as Ford’s fingers touched him, freezing in place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ford put in the earpieces and pressed the stethoscope firmly to Bill’s chest. There was a singular, steady human heartbeat. It wasn’t abnormally quiet or loud, just very, very fast. He noticed Bill’s breathing, quick and light and fluttering, but near silent. Ford moved the stethoscope to Bill’s back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Breathe in. Slowly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If Bill made any effort to do so, Ford couldn't tell. It was hard to pinpoint where each breath started, even when Ford moved the disk over his bronchial tree. But there were no rales, nothing strange-- except the patient himself, of course.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Normal, healthy human heart; normal, healthy, human lungs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ford put the stethoscope away. He dug through his things for a blood pressure cuff.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill’s eyes never left him, dipping away only once to notice the blue cuff in his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought you were all-knowing.” Ford reached for Bill’s arm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shifted away on the bed, but not very far. He didn’t protest when Ford took hold of his arm and wrapped it in the cuff.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Am I correct to assume your powers are gone?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, M--” Bill stopped. He scrunched the paper sheet on the bed between his fingers with a soft crackling sound.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Interesting.” Ford pumped the blood pressure cuff, and it tightened around Bill’s arm. Bill made a small sound.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What-- why is it--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s just taking your blood pressure.” Ford glanced at the numbers. 60/80. He dug a piece of paper out and scribbled it down. He should have been writing all of this down. Well, better to start later than never.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Take it off?” Bill asked, quietly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ford looked up from his writing. He’d faded out a little, and two pages of fresh black cursive stared up at him. He undid the pressure cuff and rolled the cord around it, noticing Bill rub his sore arm out of the corner of his eye. Too bad for him if he was a little uncomfortable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He went to a different drawer this time to find a small light. He used it more often than the other tools, to examine the eyes of any specimens he captured.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ford reached for Bill’s chin, to steady his head while he shined the light in his eye. Seeing the hand coming toward his face, Bill ducked and slipped off the table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cipher, what are you playing at?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The ex(?)-demon was clutching at his yellow suitjacket. He hadn’t bolted from the lab, but he was taking several small backward steps and looked ready to take off any second.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ford really didn’t want to have to deal with a crazed Bill Cipher on the loose in his basement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He drew the destabilizer and pointed it at Bill in a single motion, easy as breathing after his years running from dimension to dimension. “Don’t move.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The inching steps stopped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ford moved slowly toward Bill, keeping the gun trained at him. “That’s right, don’t try anything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You won’t do it,” Bill said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ford pushed the trigger just to the safety mark, a last resort to stop misfires. It clicked, and Bill winced.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come back to the table with me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once he had been escorted and seated, Ford clipped the gun back to his belt and dug the flashlight out of his coat pocket. When Ford reached for his chin again, he noticed Bill was shaking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ford cupped his face in one hand, but didn’t raise the flashlight. He could feel the trembling through his fingertips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re scared, aren’t you?” he realized.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill didn’t respond, but it was obvious enough in the way he refused to break eye contact, or even blink. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill Cipher was afraid of Stanford Pines. This… this was new.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ford studied his enemy’s face. Human-approximate. All the normal features. Soft skin beneath his fingertips. Slightly sharpened canines where he was biting his lip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His eyes were wide, the pupils slittled, and the whites tinged with yellow. The golden sclera, where had he seen that before…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh. The time this creature had possessed his grandnephew.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ford let go of Bill, stuffing the flashlight back into his pocket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the twins had come back from that puppet show, Dipper had been nearly unconscious. Stan had told him about the hospital visit, carrying the poor kid’s body into the ER.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There had been a few bangs and scrapes easily explained away with the spat with Mabel onstage. But there had also been a concussion, a sprained wrist, and several deep punctures, each tiny and lined in fours as if someone had stabbed him repeatedly with a fork. They were up and down both arms, a few on his chest and stomach, each with its own tiny trail of dried blood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t enough to delude and betray him, no this </span>
  <em>
    <span>thing</span>
  </em>
  <span> had to come back to torment the family he didn’t even know he had.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He should have let Stan burn the journals… but then they wouldn’t have been able to stop Bill when he came, would they?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ford looked at the being sitting quietly on the lab table, with all the audacity to look the victim.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come with me,” he said. He put his hand on the holster for good measure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ford steered Bill in front of him, unwilling to let him run off. He had a large, treated holding area that he had built years ago. Something designed as a precaution, with the little shapeshifter in mind. But it would work for just about anything. He pushed Bill inside and sealed the door. Even though they were unneeded, it was good to see none of the protective runes on the metal doorframe had chipped or faded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ford went back to his notes and stared at them. Then he shut his journal and went upstairs, before his anger made him do anything rash.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Morning at the Mystery Shack</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i never thought id one day have to put thought into teaching a demon basic hygiene</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ford expected to find shouting. Instead, it was quiet. The Shack’s main door had been shut, and the sign flipped to show it was closed. A cool breeze washed in through a half-open window, along with a few spears of amber light. Evening. Good. Soon, he could go to sleep and forget about it all for a few hours.</p><p>The floorboards creaked a little as he went into the kitchen. There was a bottle of brandy on the countertop, missing its cork. A little had been poured off, but not enough to be concerning. For a moment he considered having some. But now was not a good time to start a habit.</p><p>Ford scanned the room for the cork, came up empty, and stuffed a napkin in the top. He put it in the highest cupboard.</p><p>Music spilled out of the living room, along with flashes of light as the TV played. </p><p>“そうさ かなしみ を やさしさ に</p><p>じぶん らしさ を ちから に</p><p>まよい ながら でも いい あるき だして</p><p>もう いっかい。”</p><p>He poked his head into the room and saw Stan in his usual chair, a glass of brandy clenched in one fist. His eyes were on the screen, but he wasn’t really watching it. Beside him, Soos sat on the couch beside an empty bowl.</p><p>Ford stayed in the kitchen. Maybe it was best to let a good thing be, let Stan relax.</p><p>“Grunkle Ford?”</p><p>He turned around to find Dipper standing in the entryway. “What’s up, kid?”</p><p>Dipper shuffled further into the kitchen, pulling his notebook out of his jacket pocket. He flipped through a few pages until he found the one he wanted, then held it out. “I, uh, wrote some stuff down. About what he said.”</p><p>Ford accepted the notebook and placed it on the counter. “Did he try anything on you or your sister?”</p><p>“No, not really, but… I made him a deal.”</p><p>Panic flashed through him. “You <em> WHAT? </em>”</p><p>“No, not like that! No hand shaking or anything. Just, I agreed to answer his questions if he answered ours.”</p><p>“Bill never holds up his end of anything,” Ford said, “Just let me deal with him.”</p><p>“How?”</p><p>“How am I gonna deal with him?” Ford glanced at the notebook, all the neat little lines of blue. “I don’t know.”</p><p>“Are you going to kill him?”</p><p>“I don’t know,” he said again. “I understand if that's what you want, though.”</p><p>“That’s the thing, Grunkle Ford. I’m not sure.”</p><p>Ford sighed. “We’ll figure something out.”</p><p>“I guess we’ll have to.” Dipper gestured at the notebook. “I’m gonna leave this with you for now, but if you’re going to be asking him things, he mentioned something about alternate universe us, and… just let me know if you figure out whether he was lying or not.”</p><p>“Alright.” Ford collected the notebook and slid it into his largest coat pocket. “Thanks, Dipper. I’ll bring it back in the morning.”</p><p>“If you ever need any help--”</p><p>“This changes things, but not everything. You’re still my apprentice.”</p><p>Dipper relaxed, a few of the creases in his forehead smoothing out. That kid worried so much Ford swore he was going to get premature wrinkles of his own.</p><p>“I’ll see you in the morning, probably. Try to sleep, if you can.”</p><p>***</p><p>The room was dark, and chilly. Bill had found the back corner of it to curl into, and tucked his suitjacket tighter around himself. After that, there was nothing to do but wait, either until they let him out, or his fleshbag body rotted.</p><p>The walls were hard, and so was the floor, no matter which way he moved himself. He didn’t like touching things, or having such long limbs to contend with. He missed floating. Besides, it was too quiet, except for the whistle-y sound his body made when it breathed, and an odd growling coming from inside him. He tried singing a bit, to chase the silence away, but it made him feel worse. Smaller.</p><p>That wasn’t right. He wasn’t supposed to feel like this. He was-- he was the most powerful being in the multiverse! Well, almost.</p><p>And all this for one, small mistake? He’d had everything! He should have waited. He’d waited for millenia, what was a few extra seconds of thought? He should not have been so rash. Then he would still be him, and the Pines would be dead.</p><p>Fuck Old Frilly. Someone ought to shove AXOLOTL in a human body and see how <em> they </em> liked it.</p><p>Bill leaned his head back against the wall, too tired to hold it upright any more. Despite the assaults on all his senses, or maybe because of them, he managed to pass out for a few hours.</p><p>“Hey, Cipher. Cipher!”</p><p>Someone was yelling. Yelling his… wait, where was he? Was he back? Had this been some kind of test? Had he failed? He had probably failed.</p><p>“CIPHER!”</p><p>Oh, this was bad. He closed his eye, and waited for his punishment. He wanted to curl into himself, but he didn’t know whether the pity act would make Sixer angrier.</p><p>“BILL.”</p><p>Bill? His eye flickered open. It was hard to see. There was a square of bright light in front of him, and a shape. Sixer, in a red sweater and a plain jacket. Nowhere to be seen was the powder blue suit or the sapphire on its lapel.</p><p>It hadn’t been a test. He’d just-- he didn’t know. Fallen away from himself somehow. And now things were blurred together in his head.</p><p>“You’re awake.”</p><p>Sleeping? He didn’t have to sleep before. But then again, he’d still had his magic.</p><p>Bill decided he hated sleeping. He should never be this disoriented or vulnerable.</p><p>“Eugh what’s that-- God, Bill, did you pee on the floor?”</p><p>“Did I what?”</p><p>Bill sat up. The light from the doorway was no longer blinding him, but he still felt dizzy. Also, the floor was wet, and his suit. It was cold, and the cloth stuck to his skin. He pulled at the buttons on the suit jacket. They didn’t come undone. How was he supposed to undo them without magic?</p><p>He flipped the shirt and jacket and tried to pull them over his head. The shirt peeled off his chest and made him feel sticky, but he couldn’t quite get it over his head, his arms trapped in the sleeves.</p><p>He should <em> not </em> have to deal with whatever this was. He should be able to just wish the bad stuff away. Without magic, how could he do anything? He already messed up so much when he used it, but now? Sixer would be disappointed. And angry. Very angry.</p><p>A hand clamped around his wrist. “Come on.”</p><p>He struggled to his feet, his head and arms still tangled in the jacket. Sixer dragged him, blind, through the lab. He could hear the familiar whirring and bubbling of tubes and machines. What if Sixer hooked him up to something? He would even be able to see what it was!</p><p>Bill heard the door open, and they left the lab. A second door. He was pushed into the room. A light flicked on, and so did a buzzing fan. The shirt was ripped off, and he pulled his hands to his chest instinctively.</p><p>They were in a small room, with a little counter and a sink, with a mirror above it. Behind him was a basin and some kind of weird chair. Sixer dumped his wet clothes on the floor and ordered him to strip the rest of the way. While Bill did as told, Sixer went over to the basin and turned a knob. Water spilled out of a faucet. Neither of them spoke as the room filled with heat and steam.</p><p>“I’m guessing you don’t know anything about basic hygiene?”</p><p>“No, Master.” Bill bit his tongue, cursing himself. He let his jaw tighten enough to draw blood, and let the pain take care of the shame, at least temporarily.</p><p>“Get in the tub.” Sixer pointed at the basin. He ignored what Bill had said. Did that mean that was good? Should he keep calling him Master?</p><p>He really didn’t want to do that. Especially not after he used to have Sixer wrapped around his finger. If anything, Sixer should have been calling <em> him </em> Master.</p><p>Bill shuffled over to the basin. He poked the water and drew his hand back quickly.</p><p>“I don’t care if it’s hot, get in.”</p><p>He stepped into the water. It burned his feet. </p><p>Sixer held up a small bottle. “This is soap. Squeeze it into your hand and lather it like this.” He bent down and wet his hand, then squirted some liquid out of the bottle. When he rubbed his hands together, it started to bubble. He rinsed them in the bath again, and handed the soap to Bill. “Do that to the rest of yourself. Put some in your hair, too.”</p><p>He sat down on the chair thing, facing away from Bill. “If you start drowning, scream and I’ll get you.”</p><p>Bill stared at the bottle in his hands. It had an abstract bird picture on it and read: <em> Dove Body Wash. </em></p><p>“What is the point of this?” he asked.</p><p>“This point is you smell, and I’m not letting you out of the bathroom until you’re clean.”</p><p>He squirted some of the liquid onto his hand and sniffed it. He rubbed it between his hands.</p><p>After he had done his best to follow Sixer’s instructions, he handed back Bill a white bath towel. “Wrap that around yourself.”</p><p>Bill did, holding it in place over his chest, while Sixer stood up and looked him over. “You forgot to rinse your hair,” he said. He grabbed a smaller towel, dunked it in the bath, and rubbed Bill’s head roughly a few times. “That’ll have to do. Let’s get you some clean clothes.”</p><p>They went out into the main area of the basement again. Unlike the Gleeful Sixer, this one had a room across from his lab. Then again, Gleeful Sixer lived in a mansion instead of a shack.</p><p>The room was pretty small, but Bill couldn’t make a comparison because he had never been allowed in Sixer’s private room before. </p><p>There was a dresser and a bed with an old brown patch quilt and its own small table beside it. On the opposite wall was another door, which Sixer opened. It led to a much smaller room, only a few feet, which was filled entirely with clothes. He grabbed one of the sweaters and threw it on the bed, along with a pair of pants and boxers.</p><p>“See if you can manage,” Sixer said, and stepped outside.</p><p>Bill looked down at the clothes. He wasn’t sure why there were two pants things, but he supposed that since he never saw humans wearing the smaller pants, they must go on underneath.</p><p>He wondered if his suit had double pants. He wasn’t sure. When Mabel had magicked him a suitable body and clothes, they were already on him, and he always cleaned himself with magic. Intenstaneous and hassle-free.</p><p>He put them on pretty easily. The outer pants weren’t very hard, either, once he remembered that the button thing went on the front. He picked up the sweater. It was gray, thick and soft in his hands. He rubbed it against his face, enjoying the feel of it.</p><p>“Hey, you still alive in there?”</p><p>Bill fumbled the sweater on and went outside.</p><p>“Shirt’s on backwards,” Sixer commented. </p><p>Bill frowned. At least he’d been right about his head going through the biggest hole.</p><p>“We’ll leave it for now,” he said, and started back toward his lab, glancing back to make sure Bill was following.</p><p>Now that he was more awake, and the uncomfortable feeling on his skin was gone, Bill realized that his middle hurt, like part of his insides had been scooped out. It kept making noises, too. His mouth felt weird and fuzzy.</p><p>“Excuse me,” Bill said when Sixer paused to open the lab door, forcefully omitting the ‘Master.’</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“I think a parasite got in this body.”</p><p>Sixer raised one eyebrow. “What makes you think that?”</p><p>Bill pointed to his stomach. “Somethings making weird noises, and I think it ate a hole in me.”</p><p>Sixer slammed his lab door shut and rubbed his forehead. “Dammit, I guess I’ve got to feed you now, too.”</p><p>They went up in the elevator and into the kitchen. The wood was smooth and hard and kind of cold under his bare feet. A new smell overpowered that of the Shack’s dust and taxidermy, and grew stronger as he followed Sixer into the kitchen.</p><p>The twins were seated at a table in the middle eating some kind of round brown human food. Well, Pine Tree was eating. Shooting Star seemed set on drowning hers in some kind of thick brown liquid.</p><p>“Easy on the syrup, Mabel.” Pine Tree snatched the bottle from her and drizzled some of it on his own food.</p><p>“Hey!” She wrestled it back and he let her have it, cutting his food into squares with the side of his fork. Shooting Star opted to stab the middle of hers and hold it up, nibbling around the edges.</p><p>Pine Tree looked up. “Good morning Grunkle Ford… oh.” His eyes fell on Bill.</p><p>“I’m not planning on starving him to death, so I have to feed him too.” Sixer glanced around, eyes landing for a moment on the stack of steaming round things on the counter. “Where’s Stan?”</p><p>“He left when he heard the elevator come up,” Shooting Star said, poking the syrup puddle with her fork. She tried for a smile. “He’ll come back, though.”</p><p>“And Soos?”</p><p>“He’s running a tour.”</p><p>“Right.” Sixer opened the pantry and took out two slices of bread, setting them in the slots of a metal box and pushing a lever. He glanced over his shoulder. “Don’t just stand over my shoulder, sit down.”</p><p>He made sure to choose the chair farthest away from the twins. They studied him studying them.</p><p>Sixer slapped a paper plate in front of him and he jumped. There were two brown squares on it. Bill stared at them.</p><p>“I know you know how to eat, Bill,” Sixer said. “Dipper’s seen you.”</p><p>Both Pine Tree and Sixer winced at the mention of the possession.</p><p>“I don’t see how this is supposed to fix the problem,” Bill said. “It’s just human food.”</p><p>“Eat the damn toast, Cipher.”</p><p>Bill picked up one of the squares. He glanced up at Sixer. He didn’t actually seem all that angry, but he was good at pretending sometimes.</p><p>“Afterwards, can-- can we deal with the parasite?”</p><p>Sixer sighed. “We are.” He pointed to the toast in Bill’s hand.”That’s the antidote.”</p><p>His eyes widened. “Oh.” Bill put the toast in his mouth and tore a piece off. He remembered to chew it before swallowing. He had almost killed a host once, choking. It would have been fine if he had been done using her, and if the method wasn’t so panic inducing.</p><p>The toast wasn’t as good as other human food he’d tried. He’d thought it was just some kind of luxury item humans kept around to enjoy, but if eating it helped then maybe it had a purpose. Maybe these parasites were common for them.</p><p>“There were already stancakes, Grunkle Ford,” Shooting Star said. “You didn’t have to go make toast.”</p><p>“I don’t want him to throw up if he has something too rich. I already have to deal with one of his messes.”</p><p>Bill bit hard into the toast again, trying not to scowl.</p><p>“Aw, Grunkle Ford, I think you insulted him,” Shooting Star said. She had the audacity to look amused.</p><p>He shoved the rest of the toast into his mouth at once and glared at her. She <em> laughed. </em> </p><p>How dare she laugh! He stood up.</p><p>“Bill!” Sixer said, sharply. He jabbed his finger at the chair. “Sit.”</p><p>He looked at Mabel, then at his own hands. His defenseless fleshbag body. He sat down.</p><p>“Finish your food.”</p><p>He picked up the other piece of toast and ate it, fast enough not to get yelled at, but slow enough to stall for time. He didn’t want to go back to the lab, or to the dark room.</p><p>“Do either of you know where the mop is?”</p><p>“Storage, somewhere.” Pine Tree laid his fork on his plate. “Um. So, Grunkle Ford--”</p><p>“Not today. I’m a bit swamped right now.”</p><p>“I could help!”</p><p>“Maybe tomorrow. Here.” Sixer pulled a notebook out of his coat and handed it to Pine Tree. In his other hand he held a steaming cup of something that smelled strong and bitter.</p><p>“Come on, Cipher. Downstairs.”</p><p>Bill slipped out of his seat and followed Sixer back toward the vending machine. He clenched the slightly-too-long sweater sleeves between his fingers, and hoped that things would be okay.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Dark Room, Dark Memory</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Events of the flashback inspired by a Reverse Falls fic by @greybird<br/>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26790553</p><p>chapter title's cheesy but its all i could think of</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Bill sat once again on the lab table, his ankles crossed and hands folded. He held as still as he could as Sixer pushed some of his hair to the side, calloused hand brushing his forehead, and lifted the flap of Bill’s eyepatch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was too close. He could feel Sixer breathing on him, towering over him while he was seated, his face and body filling Bill’s vision. Sixer’s waist nearly brushed Bill’s knees, the particle destabilizer close enough to reach out and take.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Was it worth the risk?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He unfolded his hands and slid one to his side, glancing back at Sixer’s face. He was studying the space behind the patch. One of his hands was holding Bill’s head firmly, thumb brushing just underneath the socket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And the gun was </span>
  <em>
    <span>right there. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He slid his hand out a little more, allowed himself a second to breathe, and yanked it from it’s holster.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill clamped his hands around the still-warm grip, whipped it up toward Sixer, and yanked on the trigger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unfortunately, after years of interdimensional travel, Sixer had great reaction time, and threw himself to the side. The blast flew off into the wall of the lab with a shrieking, shattering sound, but Bill had no time to take in the damage. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The destabilizer was ripped from his hands and tossed, skittering across the floor, while two six-fingered hands clamped around his throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the HELL was that?” The hands shook him, and he went limp instinctively. “I spared your sorry life, and THIS is how you repay me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His throat stuck. He had been addressed, but he couldn’t make himself speak. What was he supposed to say? Yes or no? Sixer wouldn’t like either of those.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill forced himself to drop his gaze. To make eye contact was to challenge Sixer, and Bill wanted him calm. Calm and merciful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The squeezing hands dropped from his neck to his shoulders, dragging him upright. He let himself be led to the dark room again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Will Cipher was a ghost. He almost never saw anyone, unless the Gleefuls needed him, and he spent his days slipping through the halls of their manor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sometimes the ornate public ones, with gold leaf on the walls and stained glass windows checkered in diamonds. More often, the smaller, warmer tunnels of old wood that wormed their way into nearly every room in the house. He would sometimes find other members of the household there, maids and servingmen, but they never spoke to him. At first they wouldn’t even cross his path.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Will did some external house chores from time to time, when they were needed, but he was more of a personal servant. He belonged to the two masters of the house, and their niece and nephew. Visiting family, guests, and side performers were never allowed to give him orders.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was hurrying through the hall with a basket of Mabel’s laundry when he heard her. He paused, outside the servant entrance to her quarters, wondering if he shouldn’t wait.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her voice came muffled through the doorway. “Pleaaaaaaase,” she whined. “It’s been the same routine for a week now! The fire thing’s old.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mason was quieter, harder to hear, “Even if they’ve seen it, it’s still impressive. To them, impossible.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But it’s boring! Can’t we do something </span>
  <em>
    <span>exciting?</span>
  </em>
  <span> He can take it, I know he can.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something cold and hard wrapped itself around Will’s chest, coiling down to pool in his stomach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you have in mind?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A pause. Will pressed his ear to the door just in time to catch a drawer closing. “These. But my best set, obviously. I’ve been practicing for, like, weeks now! It’ll be stunning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t care as long as Great Uncle Stanley approves.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’ll like it,” Mabel promised.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll ask Will to set things up for tomorrow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tonight!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tonight,” Mason conceded. He usually gave into his sister. She won easily nearly every time, unless something really mattered to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Will felt a buzzing on his arm and almost dropped the laundry basket. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were four silver cuffs around his left forearm, unremovable except with a key. Each corresponded to one of his masters, and buzzed when they called for him. A small blue light in the center would flicker faster or slower to indicate his distance from his destination.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He waited a moment before entering, not wanting them to realize he had been eavesdropping, then slid the basket onto his hip and opened the door. He dipped his head when he saw them. “Master. Mistress.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She and her brother were already dressed in their show attire, Mason in black pants, a blue jacket and blue silk tie; Mabel in black tights, a short blue skirt and matching v-neck blouse. Her hair had yet to be pulled back into its customary bun, but the sapphire hairpin was sitting out on her dresser.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You may put the basket down. The laundry can be folded tomorrow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Mistress.” He placed it on the floor at his feet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Will watched her carefully as she addressed him, making rare eye contact and pointing his body toward her to show her she had all his attention. He didn’t want to be scolded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The finale will be different tonight,” she told him. “You will polish all my throwing knives. Lay them out on the display table on stage, </span>
  <em>
    <span>evenly</span>
  </em>
  <span> from shortest to longest. And do it manually. Conserve your magic.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Mistress.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He would need all the magic he had left in him to heal after the show. He always did-- the twins drained most of it daily.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As if to spite him, Mabel flicked a finger at a small black box beside her dresser and floated it lazily over to him in a haze of his stolen magic. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dismissed,” she said. He bowed his head once more, and slipped out the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Will took the leather case of throwing knives to his room. It had no bed, since he didn’t need one. It was more of a limbo space for him, on the rare occasions he wasn’t needed. It had a chair and a table in the middle, though, and a small light for which he was grateful. To the side were shelves, stocked with supplies. He placed the case gently on the table and flitted over to them, pulling out spray and a polishing cloth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It took Will the better part of two hours to clean them. All it took was a slip of the hand, and there were fingerprints on the metal once again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he whisked the cloth over both sides of a rather long dagger, he wished he was brave enough to mess up. Smudge them, maybe even break one of the tips off. The knives wouldn’t be revealed until the finale, and Mabel’s rage would be delicious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But they would order him inside after the show, and they would punish him, and he wouldn’t have the magic to take care of himself. So Will kept polishing the knives that, within the evening, were sure to be plunged into his chest and throat at inopportune angles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One of these days, the twins would mess up. Break their end of the deal. They had to, eventually. Will closed his eyes and let himself daydream for a moment. He would have his power back, his body, his freedom. He could skip from this dimension and never return. Heck, he could stay in the dreaming realm forever-- just in the good dreams. And there would be no more pain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His wrist buzzed. Will opened his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He packed the knives carefully back into their case and darted through the halls. Twenty minutes to showtime.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were sorted with all the precision he could muster and covered with a soft blue cloth. Will slipped backstage, dipping his head respectfully as he passed Master Stanley, who oversaw the Tent of Telepathy’s shows. He found an out-of-the-way space, between the back wall and a disused tank for escape tricks, and waited in a sort of dazed rising nausea for his turn to come.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even if the cuff hadn’t buzzed, the violin notes that sounded the finale’s beginning would have drawn him out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After the dark of backstage, the front was loud and blinding. On either side of him, Mason and Mabel seemed to be blinding, too, all glitter and sapphires and crowd-pleasing smiles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mabel slipped an arm around his waist, holding her other hand out to the crowd. “We have a special treat for you, tonight,” she sang, leading him to stand in front of a painted board. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Beside them was the little table of knives. She withdrew from him and whipped the covering cloth off with a flourish. “So,” she said, “how many of you have ever seen a demon bleed?”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. i am a tired bitch have some art</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>this took way longer than it should have in all honesty<br/>i stayed up into the morning yesterday drawing out boi in my sketchbook and i wanna share some of them but i dunno if theyre good so i made this thing and blargh im so tired but anyway here you go</p><p>
  <a href="https://www.deviantart.com/luxxydraws/art/badly-rendered-will-timeline-864083428">https://www.deviantart.com/luxxydraws/art/badly-rendered-will-timeline-864083428</a>
</p><p>Ye i forgot to label it but its like 1st day/1st month/6 months/1 year or somethin ig</p><p>let me know what ya think!</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Dreamvisitor</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The partial lucid dreaming is based off my personal experience hope it makes sense lol. I’ve researched dreamwalking a little and astral projection a lot (I have a book on it, it's one of my new special interests, and I’ve gotten into the vibrational stage a few times.) So yeah, that shits gonna come up a lot.</p><p>Yes this chapter is short and shitty but I haven't posted for a few days so hERE WE GO</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>    As Mabel helped herself to more stancakes, Dipper picked up his plate and went to the sink to start washing up. Obviously Stan wasn’t going to do it, even though this wasn’t his shack anymore.</p><p>    He flipped the sink on and let the water heat up before glancing back at the table. The chair that had been occupied by Bill Cipher the Damn Dream Demon was still pushed out, and there was a plate full of toast crumbs on the table before it. Dipper sighed through his nose and brought it to the sink as well. <em> Never thought I’d be doing Bill’s dishes. </em></p><p>    He held the plate under the water and let it sweep the crumbs away, then stacked it in the dishwasher.</p><p>    “Hey, brobro? You okay?”</p><p>    “Hm? Yeah, no, I’m fine.” He took the sponge and scrubbed at the syrup stuck to his own plate, the now hot water almost scalding his hands. “How about you?”</p><p>    She ignored the question. “You’ve been quiet lately. I’ve been remembering things, too, now that he’s back and… if you ever need to talk about anything, I’m here.”</p><p>    Dipper leaned back to reach for her plate, which she handed to him. “Same goes for you.”</p><p>    He went to wash it, when a tremor ran through the floor, Irattling the dishrack.</p><p>    He froze, water dripping from his hands. “Uh, what was that?”</p><p>    “I have no idea.” Mabel reached into her sequined purse and pulled out her grappling hook. “Let’s go find out.”</p><p>    Dipper fished around in the sink, coming up with a butter knife, and followed her toward the vending machine. The elevator was still at the lowest level, but it came when they called it. The line hadn’t been damaged.</p><p>    “You don’t think this has anything to do with Bill?” Dipper asked.</p><p>    “It’d better not.”</p><p>    When the elevator doors slipped open, the first thing they noticed was the hole in the wall, exposing Ford’s laboratory to the main room. There were no glass shards, or chunks of wood and wall, just a fine layer of dust and the faint smell of ozone.</p><p>    They left footprints in the dust as they moved into the lab. The top half of a swivel chair had been seemingly vaporized, along with several sets of test tubes and their contents.</p><p>    Dipper looked down at the fine powder beneath his shoes, suddenly queasy. He could be walking in the remains of his Grunkle.</p><p>    “Kids!”</p><p>    Mabel ran at him, dropping the grappling hook. “Grunkle Ford!”</p><p>    Dipper waited until she’d finished hugging Ford to death. He wondered if he should do the same, but somehow he couldn’t imagine Ford hugging him back. “What happened?” he asked, expecting the answer to be what it was.</p><p>    “Bill.”</p><p>    “Does he--”</p><p>    “No, he stole the destabilizer. Managed to fire it once.” Ford looked over the damage. “Well, looks like it didn’t do much to the structural integrity of the Shack. Hopefully.”</p><p>    “Where <em> is </em> the idiot triangle anyway?” Mabel picked up her grappling hook and blew the dust off it, like a gunslinger blowing away the smoke from the barrel of their gun.</p><p>    “Old holding room.”</p><p>    “Have you asked him about--”</p><p>    “It hasn’t even been a day, Dipper!” Ford shouted. He rubbed fiercely at his temples. “Not even a day. And now I’ve got this mess to clean up. Give it-- give <em> me </em> some time.”</p><p>    Dipper fell silent. “I’m… going back upstairs,” he said, at last. “Call me if you need me.”</p><p>***</p><p>    He hung around the shack for a few minutes, before walking back to the apartment. He’d stayed up nearly the whole night, trying to distract himself on his phone from the constant reminder that Bill was back, and the memories that fought to be relived. Maybe, now, he was tired enough to just crash.</p><p>    Besides, everything just felt weird, and, honestly, he was a bit scared. Maybe his stomach would hurt less if he slept on his anxiety.</p><p>    His apartment was as he’d left it, tangled blankets on the floor beside his suitcase. He let his backpack fall from his shoulders and crawled into bed, wrapping the covers tight around himself.</p><p>    Dipper dreamed. </p><p>At first it was the usual kind of dream, fuzzy around the edges but just quite real enough to gum you down in it. Then, in an instant, it snapped into focus, and his Weirdmaggedon dreamscape faded back.</p><p>    He looked down at himself, finding no floor beneath his feet. Panic reared up in his chest, but he ignored it, willing the floor to reappear.</p><p>    Dipper lucid dreamt often. Whenever his dreams became violent, or rolled back into repressed fears, his mind would force back the veil. Usually, he just changed the narrative of the dream to something more pleasant, or wished away the shadows that chased him. He’d never willed the dream away entirely.</p><p>    “Pine Tree?”</p><p>    Oh no. Oh, <em> fuck. </em></p><p>    Dipper whirled around, looking for the source of the voice. But there was nothing but emptiness surrounding him. “Where are you? I know you’re there! What do you want?”</p><p>    “It <em> is </em> you, then. I thought this place felt familiar.”</p><p>    He bit his lip, wondering briefly if his body was doing the same outside of the dream. “You have ten seconds to explain what the hell is going on.”</p><p>    “Or what?” Bill snapped. But he continued, “I’m dreamwalking, idiot.”</p><p>Dipper opened his mouth, but Bill cut him off. “It’s not a power thing. Humans can do it, too. It’s a bit like astral projection.”</p><p>“But that’s not…” he trailed off. After everything he’d seen, he was surprised he <em> could </em> be surprised. “Fine. But why? And where are you?”</p><p>“Sixer locked me in a dark room. I want out.” There was a soft, distorted chuckle. “So, come get me?”</p><p>Dipper snorted. “Like hell I’m letting you out. And I meant where are you in the dream. Don’t you usually like to terrorize people when you do this kind of stuff?”</p><p>“Scaring you wouldn’t help me, doi.”</p><p>Dipper willed himself to be able to see Bill, casting around again, and found him. He was surprisingly far away (that or impossibly small), hovering above him in his old triangle form.</p><p>“Let me out, Pine Tree.”</p><p>“You destroyed half my Grunkle’s lab this morning, not to mention everything else.” He forced himself not to shiver a little. “Why should I?”</p><p>Other than their voices, there were no sounds in this dreamscape. True silence. There was a good, long stretch of it while he waited for Bill to answer. Finally, he said, “Because I don’t like the dark.”</p><p>Dipper almost laughed. “You’re scared of it?”</p><p>“No!”</p><p>He let himself grin a little, behind his hand. “If you say so.”</p><p>“I do.” The golden shape above him dipped a little lower. “I know you have questions, Pine Tree. Come and let me out. I’ll answer them.”</p><p>“Why don’t you answer them here?”</p><p>“I have a body now. I’m not leaving it unattended for that long.”</p><p>“Then go back to it. Leave me alone.” He tilted his head up toward the triangle, and felt something on his head shift. He reached up to touch it.</p><p>It was his old blue-and-white hat from the Mystery Shack’s souvenir section, the little pine tree emblazoned on it in blue thread. </p><p>Bill left while he was looking at it. He didn’t watch, but he could feel it, the relaxing of the dreamscape, almost melting. He held onto the hat as he slipped back into the dream where he was twelve again and running, running, running for his life.</p><p>   </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Bill Can't Open Water Bottles</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>ayyy 2 chapters in one dayyy</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He remembered to feed Bill. It wasn’t as if he could forget, although he wished he could. Ford had toasted two more slices of bread and grabbed a bottled water to give to him. He’d been in the corner of the holding room when Ford opened the door and refused to come any closer, so Ford had left the offerings on the floor. He’d also asked if Bill needed to go to the bathroom-- he’d said no, and Ford hoped he was telling the truth.</p><p>He repeated the routine once more just before dinner, this time doubling the toast and water. He’d found the lunch food gone, but the bottled water untouched. Then he’d gone upstairs and eaten with Stan and Soos and the younger twins. Mabel had ordered them a few pizzas, and they all watched some mind-numbing cartoons about a detective duck.</p><p>Despite wanting to get as far away from Bill as he could, Ford opted to stay the night. Although Soos owned the shack, technically, the basement laboratory was still Ford’s and Soos said he was welcome to stay. He had his own room down there.</p><p>“It’s nice having all you dudes back. Just like old times.”</p><p>The twins drove back to the apartment with Stan, who hugged them each goodnight in the lobby (which smelled like carpet and chlorine) and went off to find the complementary pool where he was certain to assault the eyes of other patrons.</p><p>Dipper and Mabel waited a little longer in the lobby, a few minutes. Dipper wondered if he should tell her he met Bill in a dream. The answer was obviously yes-- but today had been long, and exhausting. So instead, they hugged each other goodnight as well (complete with the pats) and he went up to his room.</p><p>It was too soon after his nap to try to sleep again-- not without intrusive thoughts. </p><p>He propped up some pillows and opted to listen to music for a while. He held his phone until the light started to hurt his eyes and they wouldn’t stay open, until the music started stabbing his brain. He fumbled the headphones out of his ears, catching the time out of the corner of his eye --3:46am-- and collapsed into sleep.</p><p>“Pine Tree!”</p><p>Oh god he did not want to do this right now. Dipper rubbed his eyelids and willed whatever freaky dream connection this was to go the hell away.</p><p>“Waitwaitwait, Pine Tree, please!”</p><p>“I’m not helping you.”</p><p>“This vessel needs water! Sixer said so.”</p><p>Dipper paused. “Didn’t he give you some?”</p><p>“I can’t open it.”</p><p>For the sake of everything good and holy--</p><p>“Can’t you wait until morning?”</p><p>“But I’m-- I’m thirsty.”</p><p>Dipper sighed. Bill didn’t deserve his help. Still, he guessed he would, just this once. “I’ll call Ford,” he said. Stanford never left his phone on silent, so that wouldn’t be an issue. “Just let me wake up.”</p><p>“No!” Bill shouted.</p><p>“I thought you wanted help?”</p><p>“Not him.”</p><p>This time, Bill was not hiding, although he was hovering a good distance away from him. The triangle had darted forward suddenly at the mention of Ford. </p><p>Dipper crossed his arms. “The hell do you have against my Grunkle? Salty he and Stan outsmarted you?”</p><p>Bill pulsed suddenly red, his voice distorting low. “G̴͚̕ê̸̖t̵ ̸̫̅b̸a̴͆c̸̏ḳ̶̐ ̷̈ͅh̵͖̊ẹ̶͑r̶͈͋é̸̯.̵̻͛ ̷̯̑an̵͍͐d̸̳̅ ̸̎h̵́e̸̠̍l̴̛p̸̆͜ ̷͑͜m̶̤̏e̴̢͠!”</p><p>He was suddenly much closer, and much larger, and Dipper caught the flash of fangs, a black tongue and a blacker eye. The form that had chased him and his sister through the fearamid, had almost killed her.</p><p>Dipper closed his eyes. He never wanted to see it again. Never see <em> him </em> again. “STOP IT! You don’t have the upper hand here anymore! You’re human like me, and you’re bad at it.”</p><p>No response. He cracked open an eye. The black one looked back at him, its huge golden slit of a pupil staring down.</p><p>Dipper focused again on the dreamscape and forced it away, dropping into the abyssal sleep of the exhausted.</p><p>“C̶o̷m̸e̷ ̶b̴a̴c̶k̷--”</p><p>***</p><p>For the first time, Bill experienced the sensation of being forced out of someone’s head. It was as if a hand had reached inside him and tugged him suddenly down, and he fell back into his physical body.</p><p>It took him a moment to remember how to move it, and he managed to get himself upright, side aching from lying on the concrete. The pain was more annoying than anything, not terrible or fun.</p><p>The three water bottles were scattered across the room, which was far too dark to see in. He considered hunting one down for another go at it, but couldn’t work up the energy. He’d already tried twisting them, pulling on them and biting them. Maybe if he stabbed one of his sharper teeth into the plastic really hard…</p><p>He slumped back onto the floor, unrolling from his curled up position. He was too tired. He’d already let his body sleep while he visited Pine Tree-- and that had taken who knew how long. It was too late in the night to rest again, Sixer would be coming soon.</p><p>He waited. And waited. It was cold, and he was tired. His teeth kept chattering together and he didn’t know why. Bill slid his arms out of the sweater sleeves and pulled them to his chest underneath the fabric, hugging himself. He closed his eyes, and promised himself he would not fall asleep.</p><p>And then he woke up to a bright light and Sixer in the doorway.</p><p>“Alright, Cipher, what’s this I hear about you stalking my grannephew’s dreams?”</p><p>His eye felt sticky. He blinked, but the feeling wouldn’t go away. He considered trying to rub it, but he was warm where he was, and still so tired.</p><p>“Cipher.”</p><p>Oh, right, Sixer was here. That… that was bad, right? There was a little warning bell going off in his head, but it was muffled.</p><p>Sixer crossed the room to him. That was annoying. He didn’t like that. He just wanted to be left alone.</p><p>Sixer grabbed him under the arms and lifted him upright. Bill let his head fall against his chest.</p><p>“What the hell, you…” The face staring at him turned to look at something else. “How long have we had you? Two days? Have you drank <em> anything?” </em></p><p>Sixer shook him lightly and then, mercifully, set him back on the floor. Bill closed his eyes.</p><p>“No you don’t. Sit up.” </p><p>He was propped against the wall. That was rude. He’d rather be lying down.</p><p>“Here.” Something hard was shoved at his face. He opened his eye slowly. Water bottle.</p><p>Water.</p><p>Bill was suddenly aware of the sticky dryness down his mouth and throat. He <em> needed </em>that.</p><p>He bit the bottle opening and tilted his head back, gulping it down.</p><p>“That’s not how you…” Sixer trailed off, seemingly giving up. He kept holding the bottle for Bill, until all the water had disappeared. Then he screwed the cap on and tossed it away.</p><p>Bill blinked at him. “More?” he asked, carefully. His mouth still felt parched and half-numb. So did his head. He was pretty sure that was not supposed to happen. He was supposed to know everything.</p><p>Sixer gathered the second and third water bottles and crouched back down next to Bill. This time, Bill snatched the bottle from him the second he opened it. It only took him a few seconds to suck it down.</p><p>“More?” he asked, again.</p><p>“Wait. You shouldn’t have so much at once.”</p><p>Bill leaned his head on his shoulder, looking over at Sixer. The warning bell in his head was getting louder. Clearer. This was a creature to be afraid of. Who had done Bad Things to him.</p><p>And given him water?</p><p>And sliced him open on an operating table.</p><p>Already backed against the wall, Bill curled into himself, tucking his arms back into his sweater sleeves.</p><p>“What’s going on?” Sixer demanded. “Were you trying to kill yourself?”</p><p>Bill shook his head. That hadn’t even occurred to him. Although…</p><p>“I told you you needed to drink.”</p><p>He hid behind his hands. “Couldn’t open them.”</p><p>
  <em> Of course you couldn’t, you useless excuse for a being. </em>
</p><p>“And what were you doing in Dipper’s head?”</p><p>“Asking for water.” He knew better than to mention his first request. “Sorry, Ma--” he stopped. Well, it couldn’t hurt now. <em> Swallow your damn pride, it’s for the best</em>, “Sorry Master.”</p><p>“You’ve said that a few times. Why?” His voice had toned down ever so slightly, cautiously gentle. Utterly untrustworthy. Sixer was a master manipulator. After all, Bill had learned from the best.</p><p>“You asked me to.”</p><p>“I think I would remember if I did.”</p><p>“In another dimension,” Bill said, “It made you happy.”</p><p>“And why would the great Bill Cipher give a damn about what made me happy?”</p><p>He looked out at Sixer from between his fingers.</p><p>“Well?” The voice hardened some.</p><p>“Because you’re the one in charge.” Because he didn’t want to get hurt.</p><p>“Damn right I am, but I don’t want a title.”</p><p>“Then what do I call you?”</p><p>“By my name, preferably.” Sixer stood up. “I guess I gotta feed you now. Can you stand?”</p><p>Sixer let him out and into the bathroom, although he didn’t bathe this time, and he was mercifully left alone to take care of his business.</p><p>Bill went outside and stood quietly next to Sixer, who sighed. “Alright, I guess I’m bringing you upstairs again. Don’t try anything, or you’ll be living exclusively in your new room.”</p><p>***</p><p>This time, Ford and Bill were the only ones in the kitchen. Ford made toast again for Bill, and coffee for himself. He waited for it to cool and watched Bill eat.</p><p>He sat hunched over, with his legs tucked under him, and ate in quick fast bites. Every few seconds he would glance up at Ford, but never met his eyes. The food disappeared rather quickly and Ford set his coffee down. He guessed he couldn’t keep feeding an adult-sized being nothing but plain toast.</p><p>Ford opened the fridge. There was half a jug of orange juice, which caught his eyes first. He’d forgotten to give Bill any liquids the previous day at breakfast, and they hadn’t given him anything at all the day they’d found him. It would be good to make a habit of it-- plus Bill was <em> very </em>dehydrated.</p><p>He did not look forward to escorting him to the bathroom twenty times an hour after this. He poured half a glass of juice and set it down in front of Bill, who looked at it suspiciously.</p><p>“It’s just juice.”</p><p>Bill picked up the cup and stuck his face in it, smelling it. Then he stuck his finger in it and put it in his mouth. Apparently finished investigating the orange juice, he knocked it back as if he were taking a shot.</p><p>
  <em> Well, then. </em>
</p><p>Ford looked back in the fridge. There was some sandwich stuff and some shredded cheese. A half-used bottle of syrup. Milk. Eggs.</p><p>Did he even remember <em> how </em> to make eggs? He picked up the carton anyway. He’d have to find out.</p><p>There were about five eggs. He guessed he’d need two, maybe three of them. Ford dug around the pantry for a skillet and banged it onto the stove. He rapped the first egg against the side of the counter.</p><p>“Wait--”</p><p>And opened it into the pan. He turned around to find Bill standing behind him, and restrained himself from jumping back.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“You have to grease the pan first.”</p><p>Ford nodded, went to throw away the eggshell, then stopped. “Wait. How do you know that?”</p><p>“I used to cook for… your alternate.”</p><p>“You what?”</p><p>“I said I used to--”</p><p>Ford tossed the egg at the trash. “No, I heard you the first time. I just can’t-- did you mention something about alternates to Dipper?”</p><p>Bill nodded. He came over to the stove in an odd, roundabout way. Ford noticed that he walked quietly, and on the balls of his feet, half on tip-toe. He picked the skillet off the stove and dipped the raw egg into the trash.</p><p>“What are you doing?”</p><p>“I told you, you need to grease it first.<span class="small"><span class="small"><i> Idiot.</i></span></span>"</p><p>Bill looked down at the pan in his hands, then back at him, still not quite making eye contact. Still, Ford could almost see the gears turning in his head. He dropped the pan into the sink without warning and stepped back, out of Ford’s reach.</p><p>Ford had never had kids, but it was clear what was going on. Bill was testing his limits. Ford had shown him mercy and kindness, and Bill was testing it.</p><p>He jabbed a finger at the pan. “Wash it.”</p><p>Bill titled his head the tiniest bit.</p><p>“You threw it in there. It’s dirty now. Wash it. If you can cook, you can wash dishes.”</p><p>The instant he’d raised his voice, Bill had come slipping over to the sink. He switched on the water and washed the pan in silence.</p><p>That was fascinating. The second he wasn’t in charge, he reverted into someone else. He <em> listened </em>. Ford would have to test this.</p><p>When the pan had been cleaned and dried Bill set it back on the stove and folded his hands behind his back. Ford waited for a moment, to see if he was going to move or try anything else. When Bill didn’t, he rummaged through the cupboard and came up with a can of butter spray.</p><p>“This what you needed?”</p><p>He nodded, and Ford handed him the can. </p><p>He watched Bill, who took that as a sign he should cook the eggs. He sprayed a circle into the pan, and then opened the same cupboard Ford had gotten his juice glass from. He cracked the eggs into it and asked for a fork.</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“How else do you beat the eggs?”</p><p>Ford frowned. “You’re scrambling them?”</p><p>“That’s how you usually wanted them.”</p><p>“The eggs were for you, Bill.”</p><p>He blinked. “I already had food?”</p><p>“Bread’s not gonna cut it very long.” Ford took a sip of coffee, which had started to go cold. “Forks are in the drawer to your left.”</p><p>Bill beat the eggs and poured them into the skillet with milk, which was a little strange. They cooked quickly. He put them on the used plate.</p><p>“Are you sure I can have these?” he asked.</p><p>“Stop being difficult and eat your breakfast.”</p><p>Bill took a second fork from the drawer and took the food to his seat. He practically inhaled it.</p><p>“Alright, back downstairs,” Ford said, setting his empty mug down with a clatter. “I want to test something out.”</p><p>He wanted to get a good look at what was going on in Bill’s head, and he knew exactly how to do it.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Questions</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>yea so im an exhausted bitch<br/>have this short, melodramatic chapter so my conscience will let me rest</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He grabbed Bill by the arm, forgetting his coffee, and dragged him into the gift shop. Ford didn’t notice him attempting to pull away until they were inside the elevator and he let go, and Bill went half-flying into the wall.</p><p>“What’s wrong with you?” Ford asked, half-joking, watching his ex-muse fiddle nervously with the bottom of his sweater.</p><p>“Don’t do any tests. I’ll tell you what you want to know.”</p><p>“You’re a liar and a manipulator, why would I trust a single word that comes out of your mouth?”</p><p>“Because--” Bill started.</p><p>The rumbling floor came to a halt, and he took hold of Bill’s forearm again.</p><p>“Because suddenly there are consequences for your actions? Maybe you should suck it up and face them, like the rest of us.”</p><p>They went through the gaping hole in the wall Bill had made the day before and over to the back of Ford’s lab where the old memory machine still stood, monitors covered in dust-- not from the destabilizer blast, but the kind that came from nearly a decade of disuse. He flipped a switch and they hummed to life, familiar blue booting-up screens lighting; loading.</p><p>He unhooked one of the helmets from the rack. It was large and intimidating, even a bit medieval in appearance, but Ford trusted them completely. They were old inventions of Fiddleford.</p><p>Bill, however, definitely did not.</p><p>When Ford looked up, to grab him and put it on him, he found Bill creeping away across the lab.</p><p>“Oh no you don’t!” he shouted.</p><p>Then Bill started running.</p><p>***</p><p>He had to get out of the lab. Ford had seen him-- it was too late to hide. Bill threw himself into a sprint for the first time in eons, propelling himself across the floor faster than he remembered he ever could.</p><p>He needed to reach the elevator. That would buy him time. Then he could get out of the Shack and as far away as he wanted. No more Gravity Falls!</p><p>The elevator was so close, still on their floor. He threw himself at it. </p><p>He would be fast enough. All he had to do was push that funny little up arrow button on the inside.</p><p>Bill landed, hard, on the elevator floor. His breath was forced from his chest, along with maybe half his soul by the feel of it. He sat up, strained for the button, and pushed it. He let himself fall back onto the floor, relief filling him physically as well as mentally. It felt tingly. It felt amazing.</p><p>The button lit up a cheery sort of yellow and the elevator doors slid shut in Sixer’s face.</p><p>Bill only had a minute at most to rest, to do wherever he could to improve his chances… air. This body needed air. He sucked in as much as he could, his chest expanding painfully.</p><p>
  <em> Ding! </em>
</p><p>Doors were opening. Time to go.</p><p>Away.</p><p>Bill lunged into a very tall, living, breathing blockade.</p><p>“What the-- Bill!”</p><p>Pine Tree. Bill shoved him. There was no time for this.</p><p>The collar of his sweater pulled around his neck without warning, cutting off his air.</p><p>“I don’t know where you think you’re going, but I’m pretty sure it's not allowed.”</p><p>He grabbed his shirt, trying to pull himself free, but he was unfamiliar with this body, and weak.</p><p>No time, no time.</p><p>He lifted his arms and slipped out of the sweater. The door was just ahead of him. He shoved it open. Fresh, cold air hit him just an instant before the arms that wrapped around his waist and pulled him back inside.</p><p>He grabbed for the door handle, but it slipped away from him, and then there was nothing at all to hold on to.</p><p>Six fingers braced against his ribs. He couldn’t twist away.</p><p>“What’s going on?” Pine Tree asked, from somewhere behind him.</p><p>“Help me hold him down. I’ve got some kind of sedative somewhere.”</p><p>Sixer pressed him stomach-down onto the floor. A slightly smaller pair of hands pushed down on him, not quite as calloused, and then Pine Tree sat on him.</p><p>“Hey! Get off me!”</p><p>Sixer’s hands returned, one tilting his head to the side, the other doing something sharp and pinching to his neck.</p><p>“You can let him go now.”</p><p>The weight lifted. Bill jumped back up.</p><p>Or tried to.</p><p>He felt like he was using the correct amount of energy in all the right muscles, but he hadn’t moved a millimeter.</p><p>He tried again, harder. A sound escaped his throat, no louder than a whisper.</p><p>Arms scooped him up, and he found himself being cradled by Sixer, who’s expression was ferociously impassive. The elevator ride down was silent, even though he was fairly sure Pine Tree was riding with them and had hundreds of annoying questions.</p><p>Bill wished he would ask them. </p><p>Stall for time. Maybe this would wear off.</p><p>Two sets of footsteps pattered across the laboratory floor. Sixer eased Bill down into a chair, arranging him so that he sat upright.</p><p>Sixer picked up the contraption again, and set it on Bill’s head. He tightened the leather straps beneath his chin, then gave the thing a gentle tap. “All ready to go.” He glanced at Pine Tree, who already had his notebook and a new pen in hand. “You’re staying?”</p><p>“Unless you wanna try and kick me out.”</p><p>“Alright.” He smiled a thin, wan, familiar smile that made Bill want to cry. “Let’s find out what’s going on in that head of yours.”</p><p>***</p><p>Will Cipher knew that the basement was to be avoided at all costs. He did his best to be ‘a good little demon.’ He woke up early every morning to attend to the twins, to cook and clean and keep a flawless record.</p><p>He always woke Mason first, since the kid usually wanted nothing to do with him. It only took a few knocks on his door, and then he would be told to leave.</p><p>Mabel was the difficult one. Each morning Will would give the customary three knocks, then let himself in. He crept across the gray carpet, switching on the lamps and lights.</p><p>Unlike her twin, who allocated most of his room to desk space for his demon-hunting obsessions, most of Mabel’s room was taken up by her canopy bed. She always slept smack in the center of it, with no less than four blankets, even in the summer.</p><p>“Mistress,” Will said quietly.</p><p>“Mmmph, five more minutes.”</p><p>“You’ll feel more awake if you get up already. I can do that french braid thing for you, if you like. I taught myself last night.”</p><p>Mabel poked her head out of the blankets. “You’d better not mess it up.” She retreated for a moment, then unrolled herself from the blanket burrito and stumbled over to her dresser. She sat down on the futon chair and waved for him to come over.</p><p>Will gathered her hair from where it hung around her face and chose one of the brushes from the dresser. <em> Another </em>new one. She had some kind of addiction. He ran it through her long, brown hair, teasing out the knots. It wasn’t curly, but it was quite long and tangled when she slept.</p><p>“Did you sleep well, Mistress?”</p><p>“It was alright, I suppose. ‘Cept at the end one of Mason’s things popped out and chased me around. You’ve seen the drawing he was working on yesterday?”</p><p>“Yes.” It hadn’t been entirely off from some of the beings he’d seen, but there were too many teeth and the tentacles were overlarge.</p><p>“That was the one in my dream.”</p><p>She shivered a little, and he lifted the brush for a moment. “You know, I could help with that.”</p><p>“I don’t want you in my head. It’s bad enough you’re in our house.”</p><p>“Ouch,” Will said. He wondered if it might not be fun to poke around her head anyway, maybe send a few more of Mason’s monsters after her dreams. But if Stanford found out…</p><p>“Are you going to finish with my hair or what?” She snapped her fingers. He felt a small drain of his power, a little ache in his chest, as her hand lit with blue.</p><p>“Sorry, Mistress.”</p><p>Will finished brushing and braiding her hair. It was a bit more difficult than he’d expected, but she deemed his work satisfactory.</p><p>“Not bad. For you.” She pulled the braid over her shoulder and ran a hand down it, then looked up at him. “You may go. But I am planning on shopping later, and you’ll be coming along.”</p><p>“Yes, Mistress.” He grinned, “not needing a new brush so soon?”</p><p>Her expression hardened. She lifted the brush and backhanded him over the face with it. He pressed both hands to his nose, which smarted with that brand of pain that always made his eyes sting.</p><p>“Aw, looks like I do. This one’s got nasty demon blood on it.”</p><p>She dropped it onto the floor for him to pick up and went over to her closet.</p><p>Will brought his hands away from his face tentatively, finding them soaked in wet silver. He snapped, stopping the bleeding and cleaning himself up. It wouldn’t do to drip blood all over the carpet. He disposed of the brush. Even if he cleaned it, she wouldn’t take it back.</p><p>Now that both twins were up and getting ready, Will headed to the kitchen to make breakfast. Thankfully it was large and well-supplied-- he had had much to do. Mabel liked pancakes and sweet things. Mason was rather picky but could be counted on to eat granola. The older twins ate a more traditional meal, scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, the works.</p><p>“William.”</p><p>Stanford. Will turned around, keeping his eyes carefully on the floor. “Yes, Master?”</p><p>“How is my favorite demon pet?”</p><p>“I’m not a demon.”</p><p>“And I’m not a scientist. Come on now.” Stanford came towards him, reaching out. Will stepped back instinctively, the sound of boots on hardwood loud and out of place.</p><p>The hand darted forward and grabbed his chin, fingers digging into his skin. “You will not run from me. You are mine.”</p><p>“Yes, Master.”</p><p>The grip softened, just the whisper of Ford’s fingertips against his skin as they moved to cup his cheek.</p><p>“Silly thing, there’s nothing to cry about. You are a blessing. A fascinating specimen, and a good helper.”</p><p>The other hand brushed hair away from his face, Stanford catching his gaze and holding it. He wasn’t exactly looking into Will’s eyes, but at them. “I might have you join me later. I’ve got something to test.”</p><p>He squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn’t stand to look at Stanford’s face another minute.</p><p>“Oh, here the tears come again. You shouldn't cry so much, William.”</p><p>“Please,” he said.</p><p>“Please what?”</p><p>“I-- can’t help later. I promised Mabel--”</p><p>“I’m sure she’ll understand,” Stanford said. “But what was it you were trying to say first? I don’t appreciate lying.”</p><p>“I don’t want to go to the basement,” he whispered.</p><p>“You don’t want to help me? The world? You are the first of your kind to make real contact, and that means sacrifices. Don’t be selfish, William.”</p><p>“I-I’m not. Not selfish. I’m just-- I’m scared.”</p><p>The hands cupped his face gently. Stanford’s breath was hot on his skin.</p><p>“You know there is nothing to be afraid of. You always make it out the other side. But if you want to play guilt games, William, then go ahead. Enjoy the rest of your morning. I'll  see you in private later.”</p><p>He drew away, heading back in the direction he’d come.</p><p>Will went to go and make breakfast.</p><p>***</p><p>Ford asked the question once more, after Bill had been turned away from the screen. “Do you have your powers?”</p><p>Bill said nothing, of course. He couldn’t.</p><p>Thoughts flitted across the screen like lightning, and he tried to catch as many as he could.</p><p>
  <em> Asking again? -- Why?-- Wish I could-- kill him right now if-- </em>
</p><p>Well that last one was certainly delightful. Ford glanced at Dipper, who was writing with enough vigor to put his hand out of commission the rest of the day.</p><p>“Alright, Bill. Are you human?”</p><p><em>Hope not--</em> <em>but probably--</em> <em>disgusting flashbags--</em></p><p>“And you went into Dipper dreams? Without use of your powers?”</p><p>
  <em> Why is he asking? -- can’t answer anyway -- there must be-- what if-- machine-- </em>
</p><p>“Did you go into Dipper’s dreams last night?”</p><p>
  <em> Yes-- why doesn’t he ask the kid?-- didn’t even come-- fucking thirsty-- what was I thinking about?-- </em>
</p><p>“You still have the ability to manipulate dreams, then. But you said you had no powers.”</p><p>
  <em> Anyone can-- dumbass-- wait, can i-- maybe moved-- it wearing off yet?-- </em>
</p><p>“Are you planning to hurt anyone?” It was pretty much a moot question at this point, but he asked it anyway.</p><p><em> If only you knew-- take out </em> his <em> eye?-- be funny-- really need is a spoon, hah-- </em></p><p>Ford glanced at Dipper again, as he turned the page of his notebook. It would have been smarter to film the screen. Then he could replay and catch everything.</p><p>Next time.</p><p>“Why do you hate us so much?”</p><p>
  <em> How could I not-- this is-- something’s going on he-- can’t even answer so-- if-- no-- NO-- Sixer turn this off-- </em>
</p><p>“Bill.”</p><p>
  <em> Off off off off off off off off off off off off off off off off off off off off off-- </em>
</p><p>“Just answer me, Bill.”</p><p>
  <em>Off off off off-- you’re not playing fair-- off off off off off off off off off off off off off off off-- </em>
</p><p>“Since when did you care about fair?”</p><p>Ford leaned back to look at the man in the chair. Bill was sitting in the same position he’d been left in, propped up like a limp ragdoll. And he was crying.</p><p>“Show me, Bill. Just show me. Then we’ll be done. You can go back to your room.”</p><p>
  <em> Off off off off-- promise?-- lying, I SWEAR-- </em>
</p><p>“I promise,” Ford said.</p><p>The screen flickered a bit, and Dipper’s eyes lit with a spark of recognition. Ford’s own memories of his deal with Bill had played across the same screen when he was only twelve. Only twelve and he and his sister had saved the town and the world.</p><p>Ford turned his attention back to the screen.</p><p>He recognized himself right away, although he couldn’t recall ever wearing anything so colorful or dramatic. Beside him was Stan, also dressed in bright blue, but in a suit much less tasteful. It had a fur collar, and he was holding a cane, but instead of an 8-ball it had a sort of crystalline grip.</p><p>The younger two were there as well. Mabel’s clothes were a far cry from her usual baggy sweaters and glitter-- fitted, with long black tights. She and dipper both wore blue suitjackets, and his hair was slicked back to show off his birthmark.</p><p>All of this appeared to be from Bill’s perspective, as he was sort of floating above a summoning circle-- although it looked much different from the one Ford had used to summon him.</p><p>The circle glowed blue once, then returned to a chalky white.</p><p>“Uh, hi. I’m guessing you wanna make a deal or something?” The voice was Bills, unmistakably, but the attitude was foreign.</p><p>Bill seemed to take in more of his surroundings. He was in a dark room. There were chains in Other Ford’s arms, with small engravings on them.</p><p>“I… don’t really know what’s going on, but I don’t want to hurt anyone or anything, so if that’s what you wanted I’d probably, uh, better go.” Things started fading into red.</p><p>“Wait! Demon!”</p><p>“I’m really not--”</p><p>“I only have a question for you,” Other Ford said.</p><p>The room regained focus.</p><p>“What is it like where you come from?”</p><p>“That’s… hard to explain. I mean, there’s a lot out there, but, uh, where I usually am, it’s not really explainable in three dimensions? I’m pretty sure that’s all you can process, right?”</p><p>The chains in Other Ford’s hands clinked as he leaned forward. “Are there others like you?”</p><p>Bill seemed to drop a bit in the air. “I haven’t been home in a while, but yes.”</p><p>“You must be lonely,” Other Mabel said. She looked up at Other Ford. “You could stay with us, if you want. We could be your friends.”</p><p>“I--I mean…” Bill paused. He rose slightly. “I guess I’ve nowhere to be, anyway.”</p><p>“We might need help with a few things,” Other Ford said, “nothing too important. Just things that we can’t accomplish without magic.”</p><p>“I’ve got magic,” Bill said.</p><p>“That’s why we summoned you. You specifically.” Ford watched his double smile at Bill. “It’s a deal, then? You help us, and we’ll be your friends.”</p><p>“Sure?”</p><p>“Let’s shake on it.”</p><p>And they did. And then Ford’s other hand shot up and clamped a small shackle around Bill’s wrist. The inscriptions on the metal glowed blue.</p><p>“W-what are you doing?”</p><p>“It’s just a precaution. Now, why don’t you come inside with us?”</p><p>The screen buzzed and flickered for a moment.</p><p>Darkness, and Mabel’s voice. “--can’t have a silly blue triangle following us around. We have his magic, I’ll make him a body.”</p><p>“Mistress, I don’t want you to change me.”</p><p>Flicker.</p><p>“Of course you can’t leave.”</p><p>“I’ve helped! I’ve done everything you asked!”</p><p>“I never specified the timeline of the agreement, William.”</p><p>William?</p><p>Flicker.</p><p>Him, holding a scalpel, dripping with silver. The sound of screaming. The sound of ripping flesh.</p><p>Mabel, on a lit stage, cocking her arm back to throw a knife with perfect precision. The audience gasping. The audience cheering.</p><p>Crying.</p><p>Two human hands, held out in front of him as if they were unfamiliar and not his.</p><p>Another knife, in the same hands, sawing with careful precision at the veins on his wrist. The knife clattering to the table, the empty hand clutching at the silver that bubbled up from the wound.</p><p>A single blue eye in a jar of formaldehyde.</p><p>
  <em> Do you want to see more?-- see more?-- more?-- stop-- stop thinking about it-- about anything else anything else anything else anything else-- </em>
</p><p>Ford started, dumbfounded, at the screen. He hadn’t been expecting… any of that.</p><p>He opened his mouth, finding it dry. “That wasn’t <em> us. </em> Why come after us?”</p><p>
  <em> YOU SWORE WE WOULD BE DONE-- </em>
</p><p>“Bill, I--”</p><p>The screen fizzed again, and the words stopped coming. An ear-splitting crash.</p><p>The helmet was in pieces on the floor. Bill’s arms flopped back to his sides, and he looked accusingly at Ford without moving his head, still lethargic.</p><p>Ford supposed he had promised. He leaned down and scooped Bill up. He struggled some, but stopped when he saw it made no difference. His head fell limp against Ford’s shoulder, his eye glassed over, as if he were still reliving what had been on the screen.</p><p>He might very well be.</p><p>Ford carried Bill back to his room and laid him on the floor. Then he unscrewed the cap of the last water bottle and set it out near the door. He shut it quietly.</p><p>Dipper was waiting for him outside, the journal closed and hugged to his chest. He didn’t say anything, but Ford answered both of their questions anyway.</p><p>“I don’t know.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. The Aftermath</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>ay here's my tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/fried-lemons<br/>ill be doing gravity falls art (specifically for this fic) as well as incorrect quotes and reblogging any and all queer community memes that come across my dash :)</p><p>i wish everyone who's come by to read (and especially comment, i live for y'alls comments) a very pleasant evening</p><p>also i found this, so thats cool: https://www.google.com/url?q=https://images6.fanpop.com/image/photos/36700000/Gravity-Falls-image-gravity-falls-36703368-649-600.png&amp;sa=D&amp;ust=1608607763803000&amp;usg=AOvVaw3RPlFIxIu9gZ9Cg9bdUEb4</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ford was breathing heavily, leaning against the wall just outside Bill’s room. Dipper noticed a few odd symbols painted in blue above the door frame. They looked familiar, but he hadn’t studied any rune alphabets in particular depth yet. Still, the abundance of straight lines and boxes suggested a shielding or protection spell.</p><p>He had walked with his grunkle as he carried Bill to the room, although he had waited outside. It had been a strange sight-- Ford carrying Bill bridal-style, his legs and arms spilling out in various directions. Bill was oddly calm through it all, as if he weren’t even aware he was so close to Ford. His eyes never focused on anything in particular, just kind of stared out in front of him.</p><p>Dipper had seen that kind of thing before. He’d never personally had any flashbacks, nor had Mabel, to his knowledge. But he had seen Ford stop what he was doing and space out. Sometimes he would sit like that, if the memory wasn’t too bad, but other times he could cry out and grab at himself.</p><p>Bill was reliving something. And Dipper was afraid to know what it was. What he’d seen on the screen had been terrifying.</p><p>There had been copies of them all. Other Mabel was nothing like his happy-go-lucky twin-- practically the reverse. And his alternate? Nothing like him at all. His birthmark was actually showing, and he was dressed in tight, fancy clothes. And yet it undoubtedly <em> was </em> him.</p><p>Then, of course, there was the content of the scenes themselves. He hadn’t shown up very much, more on the periphery, and neither had Stan. But Ford was in almost every one of them, and <em> he </em> had proposed the deal to Bill. Who had been remarkably stupid to take it. And of course, there was the yelling and the blood, the scalpel...</p><p>Dipper had never considered why Bill’s humanoid form wore an eyepatch.</p><p>Except the eye in the jar had been blue, and he clearly remembered Bill’s eye being gold, just like his triangle form. Reverse Mabel had mentioned a blue triangle though-- and Ford had called Bill William.</p><p>Then again, Bill was short for William. And why the hell did a dream demon have an english name anyway?</p><p>“I’m going to go and make some tea or something,” Ford said, snapping Dipper out of his thoughts. “Join me?”</p><p>“No thanks,” he said. He wasn’t really sure why. There was nothing else for him to do, really, but he didn’t want to go upstairs and see everyone else. He wanted to maybe curl up on the floor for a while.</p><p>He needed to figure all of this out. That or forget about it.</p><p>He could already feel a headache coming on.</p><p>Ford walked off without another word, which Dipper was grateful for. There wasn’t much more he felt like he could handle at this point.</p><p>When Ford was safely out of sight, he let himself collapse to the floor, leaning his head back against the wall. His hat fell ajar, and he let it. Dipper closed his eyes against the bright lights.</p><p>And he saw Mabel again, on a lit-up stage in a blue tent. It was much larger than the Tent of Telepathy, but the same light powder blue. Her suit jacket was darker, and her short black skirt spun out as she twirled across the stage, a knife in hand.</p><p>“<em>Jeez, paranoid much?” </em></p><p>
  <em> “I wouldn’t say that.” </em>
</p><p>She was covered in glitter in her stage attire, although that was silver and blue as well. A blue gem sparkled from her hairband, seemed to glow, almost, in the light.</p><p>She swung her arm back and sent the knife flying.</p><p>Dipper heard again, in his head, the last, quiet shuddering breath before that memory had cut off and been replaced with another.</p><p>He wondered if those memories had been the first ones to come to Bill’s mind, or if he had chosen them deliberately. They certainly held a lot of shock value, and played across the screen at vastly different lengths, as if the demon were curating what he let them see.</p><p>Besides, he certainly had a knack for toying with emotions. And wouldn’t this be the perfect way to earn their sympathy?</p><p>Were the memories even real?</p><p>His eyes shot open as he heard a scream from the room behind him, frighteningly close. It cut off suddenly, then started again. It kept catching, coming in short bursts.</p><p>Dipper hated hearing it. It wasn’t distorted, but it was still Bill’s voice.</p><p>And it still hurt to hear.</p><p>He shouldn’t feel bad for Bill.</p><p>Should he?</p><p>Dipper pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. The screaming continued from behind him. </p><p>After a minute or so, he shook himself and stood up.</p><p>He was about do do something decidedly stupid.</p><p>The door to Bill’s holding room did not have a window or anything, so Dipper opened it.</p><p>It was fairly large. The walls and floor were made of smooth concrete, and it was empty except for a water bottle (which he narrowly missed spilling) and the man flailing around in the corner.</p><p>“Uh, Bill?” he started.</p><p>Bill clawed at his face.</p><p>“Are you okay?” That was stupid. Of course he wasn’t okay.</p><p>Dipper glanced back. He could always leave. He didn’t want to deal with this.</p><p>He looked back at Bill, who still seemed to be attempting to either maim himself or wrestle a ghost. He took a cautious few steps forward. “Bill! Stop that!”</p><p>What the hell was Dipper even trying to do? Could Bill even hear him?</p><p>Apparently yes, because he turned to stare at Dipper. The light from the door illuminated red scratch marks all over his face. A few had opened into cuts, and a little red blood dribbled down his face.</p><p>Red, not silver.</p><p>“Bill, you need to calm down. It’s not-- you’re bleeding. Don’t do that to yourself.”</p><p>Dipper wondered, uncomfortably, if Ford had ever self-harmed during one of his episodes. He’d never noticed anything, but then again, Ford always wore long sleeves and pants. But he’d had a lot less problems recently. Reuniting with Stan had helped him, although he wasn’t completely better.</p><p>He was forced from his thoughts when Bill lunged at him. His head collided with the concrete with a hollow thunk. Bill slithered up on top of him, grabbing at Dipper’s neck and squeezing. There was no moment of hesitation, just sudden, inexorable pressure and ten sharp nails digging into his skin.</p><p>Dipper couldn’t breathe.</p><p>He kneed Bill in the stomach, but it didn’t do much to dislodge him. He just hissed and readjusted his grip. The arm next to his baton was pinned under Bill’s weight. He reached over Bill with his other arm, trying to get it. He couldn’t quite reach.</p><p>A black spot swam across his vision. Fuck.</p><p>Fuck fuck fuck.</p><p>That would be fantastic, wouldn’t it? Ford coming downstairs and finding his strangled corpse.</p><p>Dipper threw himself to the side with all the energy he could muster. He didn’t roll completely over, but onto his side. The movement jarred Bill a bit, and Dipper’s airway opened a millimeter. He sucked in as much air as he could, then pinned Bill down. He leaned over Bill, breathing heavily, watching the darkness recede from the edges of his vision.</p><p>Bill was still trying to fight him, although he wasn’t getting much of anywhere, just wriggling a bit underneath Dipper. His eye was still a bit glassed over, and although he was looking directly at Dipper, it was focused slightly above his own eyes.</p><p>Dipper punched him. Which hurt his fist a lot more than he’d care to admit.</p><p>And of course, Bill screamed again.</p><p>The door was still open. Dipper crossed imaginary fingers that Ford wouldn’t come down to investigate.</p><p>While he was distracted, Bill bit him on the arm.</p><p>Dipper yanked his arm from Bill’s mouth. He didn’t spare more than a glance at it, but there were definitely teeth marks. “What the hell?”</p><p>“G̴e̴t̷ ̴o̶f̵f̷ ̷m̵e̷”</p><p>He didn’t have to listen. It was okay. Bill was powerless now.</p><p>“Stop using your demon voice,” Dipper ordered.</p><p>Bill bared his teeth, like he was pretending to hiss like a cat or something, which came off really weird. His teeth were a bit bloody as well. Dipper made a mental note to disinfect the bite mark as soon as he got to the bathroom.</p><p>“Get off me, or I w̶̺͐́ȋ̴̱̰͘l̶͍͆l̸̺̎̌ kill you.”</p><p>“Yeah, no. Don’t threaten me, don’t attack me, and don’t fucking bite me. You’re not in charge anymore. You’re not even scary. Get over yourself.”</p><p>He snapped his teeth at Dipper.</p><p>“You look stupid when you do that. You know that, right?”</p><p>Bill scowled.</p><p>Dipper got off of him, getting his arms safely out of biting range, and unhooked his baton from his belt. “Are you done having your tantrum?”</p><p>Bill scrambled upright immediately, but also kept his distance from Dipper and the stun baton.</p><p>“What you showed us was messed up, but we’re not excusing your shit.”</p><p>A drop of blood steamed down from Bill’s forehead, and he licked at it absentmindedly.</p><p>“You’re going to have to learn how to behave,” Dipper continued. “You can’t keep running away or attacking us. We’re showing you more kindness than you deserve after everything you’ve done. So in case Grunkle Ford hasn’t, I’m gonna lay down some ground rules.</p><p>“You will not try to attack, manipulate, or hurt us in any way. And don’t hurt yourself either. You will eat and drink when we feed you. You will listen to what we say. And you’ll stay the hell out of our heads. Got it?”</p><p>Bill just stared at him.</p><p>“Got it?” Dipper repeated.</p><p>“Then stay out of my head. And leave me alone.”</p><p>“I can’t make any promises on that, Bill.” Dipper sighed. “And where the hell is your shirt?”</p><p>“The fuck you askin’ me for? You had it last.”</p><p>It was probably lying on the floor of the gift shop somewhere. He wondered if Soos would sell it if someone asked. Probably not on purpose.</p><p>Dipper bit his lip and went off to get it, shutting and locking the door firmly behind him. </p><p>There weren’t many people in the gift shop, which was nice. Wendy had gotten a full-time job, so the part-time cashier now was Candy. Grenda was at the counter and they were chatting about something.</p><p>Dipper found the sweater on one of the shirt racks. Someone must have found it and mistaken it for fallen merch. Luckily, it was none the worse for wear. He tucked it under his arm and went back downstairs, grateful he didn’t have to actually talk to anyone. He felt slightly lightheaded.</p><p>When he returned, he found Bill sitting in the far corner of his room, hugging himself. The water bottle had been moved, but not touched otherwise. He flinched when the door opened. Apparently he hadn’t been expecting Dipper to come back.</p><p>He tossed the sweater at Bill, who gathered it up immediately. He pulled it around himself like a blanket, but didn’t put it on.</p><p>“Damn. You’ve really got some issues, haven’t you?”</p><p>“Big talk coming from you, Pine Tree.”</p><p>Dipper rubbed his face tiredly. “Look. I’m sorry about what happened to you. But it wasn’t us.”</p><p>“Yes, it was.”</p><p>Dipper stared at him. “They aren’t us. They’re from another universe.”</p><p>“But they’re still you. That could have and can be you, under the right circumstances. It’s still the same soul in there.” He flicked his wrist.</p><p>“But I, personally, did none of that to you. Neither has Mabel, or my Grunkles.”</p><p>“But it’s still <em> you. </em> Mason Dipper Pines.”</p><p>“So you <em> do </em> know my real name.”</p><p>“Of course I do. I know everything.”</p><p>Dipper shook his head. “Then why do you call me Pine Tree?”</p><p>“‘Cause I wanna, and your real name is stupid.”</p><p>“Seriously, though, Bill. Those-- those circumstances don’t exist in this universe. Whatever we could have been, we aren’t. We are different people.”</p><p>“You have the same souls and the same minds.”</p><p>“If you’re trying to argue nature versus nurture, I’m going to have to go with the latter. And you’re so angel either, Bill.”</p><p>He frowned and buried his face halfway into the sweater.</p><p>“What I’m trying to say, I guess, is that we’re not that kind of people. We’re not going to hurt you like that.” <em> Whether you deserve it or not. </em></p><p>“Why are you telling me this? Why do you care?”</p><p>“I don’t fucking know, Bill, but be thankful I do.”</p><p>A moment's pause.</p><p>“So you’re asking for a truce?”</p><p>“I mean, yeah.”</p><p>“Good enough of a deal for me, I guess.” Bill looked down at the sweater, and Dipper realized this was the first time the entire conversation Bill hadn’t been staring at him.</p><p>The sweater sleeves had gotten turned inside out during his failed escape. He glanced back at Dipper. “It’s broken.”</p><p>“It’s not broken.”</p><p>“Then the hell happened to the arm things?”</p><p>Dipper crossed the room, hoping that Bill wasn’t about to try to wrestle him again, and snatched it from him, turning the sweater right side out.</p><p>“Oh,” Bill said, from right over his shoulder, and Dipper jumped.</p><p>“Dammit, I don’t need a heart attack right now.”</p><p>Bill came around in front of Dipper and grabbed the sweater back, shoving it over his head.</p><p>“Hey, ever heard of a thank you?”</p><p>Bill raised an eyebrow. “I’m not stupid.”</p><p>“I was being sarcastic. But we actually have manners in this house.”</p><p>“I’m in your uncle’s weird little cryptid prison. I don’t think that counts.”</p><p>“Now you’re just being difficult.”</p><p>“Would you expect any less from me?”</p><p>Dipper half-smiled, despite himself. “I guess not.”</p><p>“But Pine Tree? If you want this truce to stand, you have to keep Sixer away from me.”</p><p>“I can’t make Grunkle Ford do anything.”</p><p>“Try," he demanded.</p><p>“I’ll… I’ll try,” Dipper said, “if it’s something big.”</p><p>Bill crossed his arms. “Not good enough.”</p><p>“It’s the best I can do.”</p><p>“Fine.”</p><p>Bill sat down and folded his arms around his knees. He watched Dipper, who was still standing pretty much in the center of the room. Honestly, he wasn’t sure what to do. Cautiously, he sat down next to Bill, back to the wall.</p><p>The room was quiet, still dim despite the light from the doorway. Good for sitting and thinking. Still, it had to get oppressive after a while. He wondered what it was like to spend your days alone here. Bill had tried to contact him in his dream, to let him out. He’d half-admitted he was afraid to sleep, and afraid to be in the dark.</p><p>It made sense that Bill would hate that. He used to be all-seeing. Now all you had to do was turn the lights out on him, and he would be helpless. Poetic justice if there ever was any.</p><p>Dipper looked over his shoulder at Bill. He’s head was leaned down on his arms, and he was shivering the tiniest bit, although if anything the room was a little too warm. After a moment, Bill lifted his head. The scratch marks had faded to pink, and the blood on his face had dried. He looked infinitely tired.</p><p>“I… If Sixer comes, wake me up. Or if you leave.”</p><p>“Uh, sure.”</p><p>He let his head fall back onto his arms. “That’s not very reassuring.”</p><p>“Yes, I’ll wake you if anything happens,” Dipper said.</p><p>After a moment, he heard a near-silent, “thank you.”</p><p>It was hard to tell if Bill fell asleep or not. He didn’t move from his spot for the entire time Dipper sat beside him. The floor was a bit hard and uncomfortable, but it was nice to sit somewhere for a while and be left alone. The only sounds were his breathing and Bill’s. </p><p>Dipper wondered if he ought to leave, and if he should wake Bill up if he did. He’d promised, but if Bill really was asleep he probably needed to stay that way for a while.</p><p>Did he dream? Did he have nightmares of his own, now that he was human? Were they new to him? Or maybe he did that thing that he had done when visiting Dipper, leaving his own body and maintaining control of his own dreamscape. Maybe he was there now, hovering around that liminal space, thinking.</p><p>He’d said that anyone could do it. Dipper remembered hearing about things like dreamwalking and astral projection, but he hadn’t really paid them much mind. It was probably difficult, or more people would be doing it. But Bill was used to being incorporeal, traveling through different dimensions and manipulating dreamscapes. He’d done it even after gaining physical form during Weirdmaggedon. It was probably second nature for him.</p><p>When Bill had possessed his body-- Right. He <em> had </em> done that. The being sitting next to him had done that. Taken his body for a joyride and manipulated his family. Broken it and stabbed it. Mabel had found a note in the car (it was taped somewhere inside journal three now) that Bill had written to himself in jagged script. He hadn’t planned on giving Dipper’s body back, ever. He was going to bang it up a bit more, then throw it off the water tower.</p><p>He wondered if it was to keep Dipper permanently in the mindscape, or for the pain of death, since he seemed to find pain so hilarious. Maybe it was a bit of both.</p><p>But then, Bill had been scared of Dipper stabbing and hurting him. He seemed afraid of it. And yet he’d stabbed himself with forks and shredded his face with his fingernails. Where was the consistency?</p><p>Another sound broke through the silence. That of footsteps.</p><p>Dipper stood up quickly, only just then realizing how drowsy he had gotten. God-- if he’d fallen asleep and Bill woke, or had just been faking it, he could have made another run for it. He slipped out the door and closed it as quietly as he could. There was nowhere he could get to quickly, without bumping into his grunkle, so he sat himself down in his previous spot beside the door.</p><p>Ford came around the corner not a moment later.</p><p>“Dipper! You’re still here?”</p><p>“Hmm?” He lifted his head, trying to sound drowsy. “Uh, yeah. What are you doing here?”</p><p>“I came to check on him.” He motioned to the door with his head.</p><p>Shit. He’d promised to wake Bill before he left or Grunkle Ford came. What if he called off their deal? The truce was already so fragile.</p><p>“He finally stopped panicking-- he was making a lot of noise earlier. We should probably let him rest.”</p><p>“He has to eat and use the bathroom at some point, and I’d rather feed him at regular mealtimes.” Dipper noticed for the first time that Ford was holding a plate of something in his hands. “Besides, I have a bit of a suspicion he might try to kill himself. Not that there are a lot of ways to accomplish that, in there.”</p><p>Ford moved toward the door, and Dipper stood up, getting in front of him. “Grunkle Ford, I--”</p><p>“Dipper, what’s that on your neck?”</p><p>“What? Nothing!”<em> Oh for fuck’s sake. </em></p><p>Ford’s eyes narrowed. “You went in there with him.” It wasn’t a question. His eyes moved from Dipper’s neck to his face. “Bill tried to strangle you.”</p><p>“Erm--”</p><p>“I told you to let me deal with him!” he shook his head, “Go upstairs, take care of your bruises. I’ll deal with you later.”</p><p>“No, wait! I promised him I’d wake him up before you came in.”</p><p>“You what? Why? What the hell happened? I went upstairs for forty five minutes…”</p><p>“He’s scared,” Dipper said. He was defending Bill. Why was he defending Bill? “Especially of you, and we made a small agreement.”</p><p>“Dipper!”</p><p>“I proposed it, not him. He follows our rules, and I make sure you don’t, I dunno, cut him open or whatever he’s afraid of.”</p><p>“That’s… not bad,” Ford admitted.</p><p>
  <em> Is he proud of me? </em>
</p><p>“So just let me go first.”</p><p>“Alright. But I’m coming in in a minute.”</p><p>Ford stood to the side of the door while Dipper slipped back inside. Bill was already awake, glaring up at him. Dipper closed the door. “Look, I heard him coming and I didn’t have time to wake you first. But I’m warning you now, okay?”</p><p>“He’s here?”</p><p>“Yeah. He got you a sandwich.”</p><p>Ford came in and tossed the plate roughly onto the ground. “Cipher. What in heaven or hell made you think it was okay to strangle <em> my nephew?” </em></p>
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<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Setting Expectations</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I know this is super short but I REALLY REALLY wanted to get it out in time for Christmas. Little holiday gift from me to you! :)</p><p>I took a day off after the last chapter was posted because I had to spend seven hours at the hospital (appointments, I didn't have an emergency or anything) and I was fucking spent by the time I got home.<br/>I was able to work a bit on my birthday, but I was in a bit of a writing slump after missing a day, and I also had a date to go on so that took up some time.<br/>And then I dashed out 90% of this today. So I hope it's not sub-par!</p><p>Also, shoutout to Mizuuma for those kick-ass poems! I love 'em!</p><p>Happy Holidays! Stay well!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As always, the booth’s leather felt unwashed and debatably damp. So did the table, except Stan was pretty sure Susan actually bothered to wipe those down. He’d spent the better part of the last few days at Greasy’s. He wanted out of the house, but there wasn’t exactly anywhere to go.</p><p>Bill Cipher was supposed to be dead. Or at least gone. Or at least still a triangle. But nope, the universe just loved fucking with him, and now, somehow, Bill was rooming with his brother and his friend in the basement of his old shack. He needed to be dealt with.</p><p>To be fair, though, he hadn’t started a second armageddon, or rearranged anyone’s facial features, or done much more than be a pissbaby as far as he knew. Still, he shouldn’t leave it to his twin to deal with him. Sure, that’s what Ford <em> wanted </em>, but it wasn’t what he needed. He would get all caught up in his scientific fantasies (which were harmless and amusing at best), he would get distracted. But going back would require the two to have a conversation, and Stan wasn’t sure he was ready for that.</p><p>Over the past few days he’d come to the conclusion that he wasn't ever going to be ready, and he might as well take himself to the shack and get it over with. Rip it off quick, like a band-aid.</p><p>Just as soon as he finished this soda.</p><p>He held the can over his mouth and tapped the last few drops out. Then he tipped (exactly enough not to be rude) and saw himself out.</p><p>It was a cloudy day, cold, but only in that fuzzy way summer <em> could </em>be cold. Not good for tours-- not that he had to worry about that anymore. Nevertheless he passed Soos with a small crowd on his way to the door. He couldn’t understand any of what was being said though. Ever since he took over, Soos had started doing tours in spanish as well as english. It seemed to be good for business.</p><p>He’d never pegged Soos as a good businessman. He wasn’t nearly shrewd enough, or cautious enough. But if Stan ever found out that someone took advantage of Soos’ good nature, well, they would have <em> him </em>to deal with.</p><p>He banged open the screen door and took a look around the ground floor. No one was in the kitchen, or the gift shop, except for Candy.</p><p>“Hello, Mr. Pines!”</p><p>“Hey, kid, have you seen my brother? Or some skinny blond-haired kid?”</p><p>“Pacifica is the only girl I know with blond hair. She doesn’t like to come here, though.”</p><p>Well, at least Bill hadn’t been up and about causing trouble. He guessed she hadn’t seen Ford, since she hadn’t addressed that part of the question. </p><p>“Thanks. Uh, keep up the good work.”</p><p>They were undoubtedly in the basement. Which would be impossible to get to without raising suspicion… but this was one of Mabel’s friends. If she hadn’t already heard about the vending machine, he’d be surprised.</p><p>With a quick look around to make sure no one else was coming, Stan typed in the code and let himself in.</p><p>The first thing he heard when the elevator opened was yelling. Go figure.</p><p>He stepped out to find a huge fuckin’ hole blown in the wall. Wondered how recent it was. It wasn’t like he made a point to come down here very often.</p><p>The shouting was coming from the far end of the lab, where Dipper and Ford were standing around a door. It had some of those fancy magic symbols on it, so it was probably a pretty smart place to shove Bill Cipher for the meantime, he’d admit that much.</p><p>“Alright, what’s going on?” he demanded.</p><p>“Grunkle Stan!” Dipper turned around. The finger marks around his neck were instantly recognizable.</p><p>Pompous little shitstain attacked <em> his </em>great-nephew? That wasn’t going to stand.</p><p>He shoved Ford aside and marched into the room, and there he was, the cackling little demon that had harassed his family for years.</p><p>He looked no older than twenty. Practically still a teen, weaker noodle arms than Dipper, if that was even possible. There had been a scuffle, and his grand-nephew had won. Kid knew how to defend himself. Stan was proud of him.</p><p>Dipper was peeking in through the doorway a bit anxiously. “What’re you doing?”</p><p>“Wanted to see what the hell’s been happening. You,” he turned to Bill, “seemed to have learned jack-shit since we last met. What did I say about messing with my family?”</p><p>The demon said nothing, just offered up a small grin. Cocky. There was nothing for him to put behind it, though. He had no footing here, and he knew it.</p><p>Just an unstable idiot with nowhere to run to.</p><p>Attacking Stanley’s family was a no-go, point-blank. You messed with them and he <em> would </em> fuck you up. And he would make sure there would be consequences for Bill.</p><p>But to be fair (which really didn’t matter, because <em> was </em> it really fair, after everything Bill had put them through?) Stanley understood his situation. He’d been kicked from his home just before adulthood and gotten knocked around from state to state. He absolutely would have fought if someone had tried to lock him up-- and he’d had to. No one was gonna bail him from jail if he got caught, and no hack minimum-wage job was gonna give him enough to pay for gas and clothes and food. So he stole, and he ran.</p><p>Stan understood that trust was a luxury. As much as they had no reason to trust him, Bill didn’t have any to trust them either. They had killed --tried to kill?-- him. Ruined his big happy apocalypse. So of course he was gonna try to make them pay. This was not going to happen on Stan’s watch.</p><p>Still, apparently all that had happened while he was gone was that Bill got tossed into Ford’s magic mini-dungeon and left there. And somewhere along the line the lab had gotten half-destroyed. And Dipper had been attacked. Basically, Bill had jumped at any chance he’d gotten to escape.</p><p>Which was, dammit, understandable.</p><p>And unless he was gonna shoot the demon here and now, something was going to have to be worked out. Thoroughly, too. Bill needed to know exactly what was expected of him and exactly what to expect from them.</p><p>Stan clapped his hands together. “Alright, none of us are gonna get anywhere like this. We need to--”</p><p>“I’ve actually laid out some rules with him,” Dipper said. His chest puffed out ever-so-slightly. He was proud of himself, too. That was good. He had some serious self-esteem issues. “He agreed.”</p><p>“Good,” Stan said, “What are they?”</p><p>Dipper listed off on his fingers, “No attacking us, or trying to manipulate us. Listening to what we tell him, and staying out of our minds.”</p><p>“And what’d you offer him in return?”</p><p>“I’d stop Ford from doing anything too drastic to him.”</p><p>He shook his head. “No wonder he agreed, kid, there are about a hundred loopholes in that agreement. For one, what counts as ‘too drastic?’ You always have to define that kind of thing. See, he agreed to it. That made you feel safer, right? But what’s stoppin’ him? Even if you shook on it, all he’s gotta do is decide Pointdexter breathed at him funny.”</p><p>Dipper’s shoulders fell a bit, his chest concaving. Wore his heart on his sleeve nearly as obvious as Mabel, ‘cept he never seemed to notice.</p><p>Bill’s eye slipped from Stan, to Dipper, and back. He’d been watching him almost exclusively since he came in. The cocky little grin had disappeared, but he didn’t look upset, per say. Just blank. Stan looked him in the eye squarely. Best way to determine someone’s intentions, though he suspected he knew with this one.</p><p>Bill immediately dropped eye contact, which was kind of funny, actually, as his All-Seeing Eye had always been watching them, even in their own home, and staring them down when they met.</p><p>He was used to being the predator. He was used to getting what he wanted when he wanted it with no fuss and plenty of his own special brand of fun. He didn’t quite take himself for prey, now, though he was several links down the food chain. There was that same, insane mind behind that eye.</p><p>“What we’re gonna do,” Stan said, “is hash this out and hash it out now. Dipper, get your sister. We’re having a family meeting.”</p><p>***</p><p>There were only four chairs in the kitchen, so Bill had been left to stand. The lights were on, coffee had been made for Ford and Mabeljuice for his niece and there was nothing stopping them from sitting here for the next hour or more.</p><p>God help them all, this was going to be exhausting.</p><p>“Alright,” Stan said. “We need to work a coupla things out, and work ‘em out in detail. What we expect from him and what he can expect from us. Dipper, you write this down, ‘kay?”</p><p>He dug into his jacket and pulled out his notebook. “Got it, Grunkle Stan.”</p><p>“So, first we’re listing off everything we want from him.” Stan glanced back up at Bill, who had in the short meantime climbed onto the counter to sit beside the sink. “First-off, no picking fights.”</p><p>Bill did not look at him. For all intents and purposes he seemed preoccupied with a piece of paper he had found on the counter. But his body was still facing the group at the table, and his shoulders were a far cry too tight for the nonchalant act he was trying to pull. Stan could tell he was listening.</p><p>“He’s not allowed to talk to the kids,” Ford said.</p><p>“We’re not kids, Grunkle Ford,” Mabel said. “Legally, even. You can’t force us not to talk to him!”</p><p>“Why would you <em> want </em>to talk to him?” Ford countered.</p><p>“I dunno! But you can’t stop us.”</p><p>“We have questions for him, for one,” Dipper said, looking up from his writing. The second bullet point had a question mark behind it.</p><p>“You really can’t stop them, Ford. They’re just gonna try to get away with it anyway.”</p><p>Dipper crossed out the line altogether.</p><p>Ford frowned. “No running away,” he continued. “Immediate compliance with what we tell him.”</p><p>Stan shook his head. “First one I get, but the second one? The hell are you gonna offer him that’ll be worth that?”</p><p>“His life.”</p><p>“If that’s all he’s got, then he won’t wanna follow the ‘no running’ rule.”</p><p>Ford slammed his mug back onto the table, not letting go of it. “This isn’t a negotiation, Lee. He doesn’t have any power here.”</p><p>He elected to ignore Ford’s theatrics, scratching an itch on his shoulder. Ford would calm down. “He’s already attempted homicide at least once,” Stan said.</p><p>“And blew a hole in the basement,” Dipper added.</p><p>“And he’s gonna keep attempting that sorta stuff until we give him a reason not to.”</p><p>Stan was interrupted by the sound of water running. Bill had discovered the sink. </p><p>He was still paying attention, he seemed to have at least the basic survival instinct of not showing your back to enemies (which meant that he saw them as such, which would make this a helluva lot harder). Instead he’d leaned back and played with the hot and cold handles, flipping them both to full stream.</p><p>“Bill!” Ford said.</p><p>Bill looked up at him. He tilted his chin ever-so-slightly to the side, as if he were confused.</p><p>“Turn that off!”</p><p>He turned the water off, one handle at a time. “Sorry,” he said.</p><p>Ford shook his head, staring darkly at his coffee (which was also dark, practically straight black. Ech.)</p><p>Stan glanced back at Bill for a moment, not letting his eyes linger for too long in case he felt he were being studied. It was a small interruption, not outright, not in a way that could be taken as intentional, and not really that effective, either. More of an annoyance. He didn’t feel as if he had enough power yet to step into the game, so while he didn’t, he would have some ‘accidents’ to at least slow their progress.</p><p>Petty revenge. Bill did strike Stan as the type for that.</p><p>“Why don’t ya get off the counter,” Stan said, “I just wiped it off.”</p><p>Bill slid off the countertop to stand beside it.</p><p>“All the way over here, you’re part of this conversation whether ya like it or not.”</p><p>There was a quick instant where he decided where to stand. It ended up being between the twins, which made Stan want to grind his teeth together. But Bill wasn’t stupid enough to try something, not now.</p><p>Dipper pulled his notebook a little closer to himself, hunching his back as Bill leaned over him to check what had been written down. Mabel was watching Bill closely, but didn’t move in response, only continued to play with the little gold star that dangled from her earlobe.</p><p><em> “Stan.” </em> Ford hissed.</p><p>“Not right now. So, we’ve got two things. No pickin’ fights and no running off. And pickin’ fights includes verbally, make a note of that.”</p><p>Bill looked at Stan curiously for a moment.</p><p>“Just coverin’ all the bases. Anything else we got?”</p><p>“No breaking or stealing?” Dipper tried.</p><p>“Good one,” Stan said. Dipper straightened ever so slightly. “And actually, circling back ‘round to the no running part, running counts as crossing the treeline or the road.”</p><p>Ford squeezed his mug. “He’s not going to be loose in the house, so that shouldn’t matter.”</p><p>“Ah, ‘bout that. We do owe him a few things for his following our rules.”</p><p>“We don’t <em> owe </em> him anything!”</p><p>“What makes you think Bill Cipher’s gonna do anything for free?” Stan said. “So, we got a few obvious ones, gotta feed him since we don’t want him dead, give him water. Some clothes. Shelter.” He leaned over the table slightly to make sure he hadn’t gone too fast, but Dipper seemed to have supernatural writing speed. Guess he couldn’t be too surprised, not after all his cryptid hunting crap-- not a lotta time to spare. “And since he can’t pick fights, none of you start one either.” Stan sighed, “and when their inevitably is a fight--”</p><p>“He’s not allowed to touch the kids.”</p><p>Mabel groaned softly.</p><p>“He’s not allowed to touch the-- adults? He’s not allowed to touch Dipper and Mabel.”</p><p>“What about self-defense?”</p><p>“They should be avoiding him anyway. And I’ll be around to--”</p><p>Stan folded his hands on the table. “The kids can handle themselves fine. And I don’t take them as the harassing type. But you can’t tell someone not to defend themselves and punish ‘em when they do.”</p><p>“Fine. You want to talk about specifics, then fine! What counts as self-defense?”</p><p>Stan sat and thought about that for a minute, which made Ford madder. </p><p>“I would say, whatever it takes to get himself safely out of the situation and no more. You hear that, Bill?”</p><p>Bill’s head snapped up. He studied Stan for a moment, still avoiding his eyes, which honestly would have been more informative than his grubby nightshirt-- but whatever floated the demon’s boat.</p><p>“Yes,” he said, finally.</p><p>“Great. Food, clothing, shelter, and self-defense. And for now, he has to have supervision when goin’ outta his room.”</p><p>“He won’t be doing that,” Ford said thinly.</p><p>“You want him to eat and sleep and piss in your little dungeon thing?”</p><p>“No!” Ford said, red-faced, “I’ll take him to the bathroom. Maybe meals.”</p><p>“See? There’s a good starting point. He has meals with us. We’ll leave the rest open for another discussion.”</p><p>Ford took another sip of coffee, but said nothing.</p><p>“Now, I know you wanted to research him--”</p><p>“It’s necessary.”</p><p>Stan waved a hand at him. “Never said it wasn’t, but according to Dipper, Bill really doesn’t like it.”</p><p>“And we care because?” Ford said. But there wasn’t as much force to his words. “I’m not some unethical beast. I just want to know how he ticks and how to take care of him when we’re sure we can do it safely.”</p><p>Stan winced internally. If you’re trying to make an agreement with a demon to get him to follow your rules, it’s not a brilliant idea to reveal the end goal is to kill him.</p><p>Best not to make a big deal of it, and discuss it later. Without said demon listening in.</p><p>“Dipper seems to have made him a rudimentary agreement, so how’s this. You talk to Dipper before you do anything, and he can go and explain it to the demon and work things out between you.”</p><p>“I shouldn’t have to--”</p><p>“He’s your assistant anyway. Shouldn’t make that big a difference.”</p><p>He waited for a moment, for any objections. None came.</p><p>Mabel continued to play with her left earring. Dipper was staring down at the page of notes that would need to be photocopied and/or taped to the fridge. Ford was swirling the dregs of his coffee around. Bill had finished speed-reading Dipper’s notes and was sidling back toward the kitchen.</p><p>Stan clapped his hands together. “Alright. We good for now?”</p><p>“Uh, I think so,” Dipper said.</p><p>“Yep!” </p><p>Ford simply nodded.</p><p>Bill only watched. His nonchalance had faded-- in big part since he had his arms folded up against his chest in a defensive position. </p><p>Yeah, that demon-killing talk <em> really </em> should have been saved for later.</p><p>Stan stood up. “Now that that’s out of the way, I’m gonna go watch TV and pretend everything’s fine. Come get me when it’s time to drive back to the apartment.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. The Demon With a Plan</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>He had a deadline, now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luckily, he had a way to drag it out, which worked in his favor doubly. Keeping Sixer’s hands off him was imperative, and Shadow had helped him so much. Probably on accident-- although Bill hadn’t expected him to be any kind of thorough like he had been, and that made Bill suspicious. But now all he had to do was convince Pine Tree he wasn’t ready for whatever Sixer had in mind. With Pine Tree’s curiosity, it would be difficult, but probably, possibly doable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gods, it was nice to see the playing field evened out a bit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And now Bill had a plan. It wasn’t a fantastic plan, but it was a plan. Plus a backup. So really, he couldn’t be too unhappy with the way things had worked out. As long as he had his plan, he knew how to act. As long as he had his plan, he would be okay.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Part one for both of the plans were the same. Earn their trust.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was confident he could play Pine Tree and Shooting Star pretty well-- especially Shooting Star. She had fancied him her little pet, back in her grand old mansion. She liked having someone at her disposal, to do her hair and carry things for her and dote on her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pine Tree loved the supernatural, and studying it, among other things.  So Bill would have to make his body at least a little available to him. He shivered a little in the dark of his room. But Pine Tree wasn’t quite so invasive as Sixer, he didn’t have the skills needed to do anything beyond look and touch and ask. No chemicals, no cutting. So Bill would have to find a way to stick it out, at least for a little while.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As for Sixer and Shadow, as long as he kept his head down he should be mostly okay. Bill hadn’t actually had too much experience with Shadow-- he’d been mostly concerned with his little magic show’s finances.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They already were going to let him upstairs for meals, which was the one piece of the plan that he needed. Time upstairs. Them getting used to him being there. Maybe getting them to bring him there outside of those times. He’d stay under supervision, be their good little demon pet --HAH-- and then, when they weren’t expecting it, he would run.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But if he didn’t get the chance, then he would have to make sure he was so entwined in their lives he was too hard to kill.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill would be fine. He was good at this. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He was good at this.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Unfortunately, he was a little attached to his self-respect. Which was stupid-- he needed to drop it fast, and he knew it. But it had been wonderful. And he wanted it. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>deserved </span>
  </em>
  <span>it. But it was a luxury he couldn’t afford.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill would get it back again. That was the point of this plan, and it wasn’t the first time he’d done this… just the first time in a few hundred eons.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dammit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His body felt squirmy and wrong. He held it still. He tried to breathe. It felt weird. But it helped, just a little.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knew how to act now, and this was his forte. He just needed to relax. Just relax.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Relax.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door opened, and Shooting Star poked her head in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill pulled his arms to his chest instinctively. See? This was good! His fear was working to his advantage. He looked weak, submissive. Just a little pet for her to play with.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>hated </span>
  </em>
  <span>this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It should be the other way around. It </span>
  <em>
    <span>had been</span>
  </em>
  <span> the other way around. If he hadn’t been such a screwup--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi, Bill.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He blinked, and looked at her. This Shooting Star had always dressed differently. Thick, baggy sweaters. He bet it would be easy to hide some sort of weapon in there, although she also had a sizable purse looped over her shoulder. She wore a knee-length skirt and white tights. She could move pretty flexibly in those, if she needed to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luckily Bill’s borrowed jeans were pretty loose, being a bit too big for him. But he wasn’t going to need to fight. As long as he stayed calm, he could follow his lovely little plan, that was all he had to do, stay calm, calm, calm, calm…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She opened the door a crack further. “So… how are you doing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He ignored her question “Why did you come here?” He needed to know what she expected.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, you live here now, and… I thought I should.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Okay. This was the proper place for a response. Not verbal, necessarily…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was kind of hugging himself, back against the wall. Maybe if he sat up just a little, gave her his attention. Maybe dipped his head a little and looked more up at her than over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I come in?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have to ask,” he said. In his head it was a bit scathing, because she didn’t, she got to do whatever she wanted. But he made sure it came out somewhat softly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shooting Star raised an eyebrow at him. “Okay then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She came in and closed the door after her, then sat down cross-legged across the room from him. She folded her sweatered hands in her lap. “This is right off the bat and all, but I wanted to ask you something that… has been bothering me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill lifted his head slightly, and waited for it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why did you want to kill us?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was funny that she put it in the past tense.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And there were plenty of fantastic reasons. They’d taken his (relative) childhood, stolen his innocence, ordered him around, ruined his one shot at happiness, and killed him to boot. Plus, they were stupid ugly fleshbag humans. It would be a mercy, really.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill looked at her. She was hunched over, slightly, the curtain of her long hair framing her face. She was fiddling with one of her earrings again, waiting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was at a slight disadvantage, because he didn’t know how much she knew about his past-- what he had shared and what Sixer had forced from him. But it was best to stick to that story. Of course, he could always tell her it was ‘cause he hated their fucking guts, but where would that get him? No closer to his goal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shooting Star loved lost and pitiful things-- it was so easy to take advantage of them. And if she thought she was in charge of him, she wouldn’t be so worried about him causing trouble, now would she?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill shifted a bit where he sat, shrinking into himself a fraction-- not too much to be overly obvious, but enough for her to notice subconsciously. It felt good to nestle a little closer inside himself. A little safer. “How much has Pine Tree told you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“About what? Weirdmaggedon?” She frowned. “I was there, I know what happened.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“About the last few days.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uhm… we haven’t really talked much.” She lifted her chin. “But he would tell me if I asked.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill tilted his head to the side. He was free to explain it his way first. And first impressions were always the most important. “Well… you know there’s a multiverse out there. Which means other yous--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She waved a hand. “Oh, I’ve met hundreds of other Mabels. What’s your point?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That… that actually surprised him. Had she met her Gleeful duplicate?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I used to live with one of them. Your family.” He glanced up at her for a quick second, to gauge her reaction. Curiosity. Confusion. Interest. Bill took that as his cue to continue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wasn’t very old yet, in the scheme of things. Wasn’t nearly as powerful as I--” he stopped himself from saying ‘am.’ Because it wasn’t true, it wasn’t fucking true, and it wasn’t at all fair.  “Wasn’t as powerful as you know me to be. But I’d poked around the dimension some, just to see it, been summoned a few times, made some deals, usual stuff. And then your alternates summoned me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took another look at her. Leaned forward, her mouth slightly parted. Now he had her attention. She hadn’t cut him off or shut him up. He bit his tongue to keep from grinning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They wanted a ready-made demon slave, made me an obscure little deal. I was laughably naive back then-- you could say I learned my dealmaking skills from Sixer. All I had to do was help them with an unspecified something for an unspecified amount of time. Which turned out to be everything, forever.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was frowning, slightly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So I did. I had to. And there were…” he paused, for dramatic effect, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>things</span>
  </em>
  <span> that were asked of me. Some of it for research, or to put me up on display for money, or for your own pleasure.” He felt himself start to shake, and he breathed out carefully, allowing it to happen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was just a broken little toy for her to play with. And he needed her to play with him, just for a little while.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It would be fine if she hurt him, hurting was fine, because he could always heal. As long as he could get away again, this would be worth all the pain in the world. He was good at this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was good at this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When I got my chance to escape, I took it. And I killed them. And I came for all of you because--” Bill allowed his voice to hitch, “because I was never going to go through that again.” He bent his head, but not so low that he couldn’t see her in his peripheral vision. “But I guess it-- didn’t work, and… I’m scared.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stopped himself there. Best not to overdo it.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t be scared, little demon. We’ll treat you as well as you deserve.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Why don’t you come with me?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Why don’t you help me?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You don’t need to be sad. I’m right here.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh… my gosh. That’s…” Shooting Star shook her head, slipping back a little into the cocoon of her hair. “That’s awful.” She looked up suddenly, her expression hardening, “You-- you’re not lying, are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He watched her quietly. She knew who to go to for answers. And she did, getting unsteadily to her feet. This was all news to her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But she would be pleased. She would come back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So when the door closed and locked him alone again, he allowed himself a smile. She had eaten it up just as well as he could have hoped, and Sixer and Pine Tree would only confirm his story, could embellish it with all the lovely examples they had plucked from his mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ford headed to the basement to deal with Bill. It was nearing dinnertime, and Lee had made it clear he expected to see Bill there, and that he was fed. Which was easily chalked up to his own trauma, half-starving on the streets for years as a young adult, so Ford had agreed easily enough. For now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The (pitiful) good news was that Bill hadn’t tried anything when more than one other person was present. And Ford always had his gun, and he was fairly sure Lee had a pocket knife or something on him most days. Dipper had his baton and Mabel her hook. They were all armed. They would be safe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He chose not to look at Project Mentum as he passed it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill had found him, had manipulated him, had made him feel valued and loved-- and it was all a lie. And Bill had chased him through dimension after dimension, in his mind, in his dreams, taunting him and torturing him. He had torn a rift between their worlds before Ford could steal more than a second to rest with his family, and he had terrorized the town. Had almost killed his niece. Not to mention the other dimensions he had obliterated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ford would not, would never feel bad for Bill Cipher.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He unlocked the door. He told Bill to come with him, and let him into the bathroom --making sure he knew to wash his hands-- and then brought him upstairs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dinner was to be pizza, again. As much as Soos insisted it was fine, Mabel didn’t think it was polite to go through his fridge. Ford felt mildly guilty about using the eggs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The younger twins were already at the table, in their usual seats. One of the pizza boxes was open on the table beside a stack of paper plates, still partly in their plastic wrapping. Half pepperoni half cheese. Ford wondered how well Bill’s body would react to dairy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Although Ford had started out steering Bill in front of him, he was hanging back to Ford’s left. Bill was taking in the table scene, and Stan, who was in the kitchen watching them, and always glancing back at Ford to see whether he was going to put any moves on him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Did Other Ford do that often?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sit down,” Ford told him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were two empty seats at the table, which would put Bill and him next to each other, across from the twins. Stan and Soos, who had finished his last tour in the last few minutes, were going to eat in the living room and watch that japanese cartoon Soos was going on about.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey dudes-- wow what happened to your face?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t say anything, which was frighteningly out of character. Ford assumed Dipper had scratched him up during their scuffle, and wouldn’t Bill just be itching to blame that on him?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, he walked over to the table and sat down. Just like in the morning, he seemed to walk exclusively on his toes. Maybe it was a side effect of being in a new body.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Soos stared after him, then half shrugged. “So, Mr. Pines, wanna go start the new episode?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a moment it seemed as if Lee wasn’t going to answer, but he nodded and followed Soos out into the living room, casting a glance at Bill, who was sitting quietly with his knees tucked under him. This made him look even taller than he was, which was unnecessary and also, quite frankly, annoying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The twins were not talking, although Mabel was watching Bill with what looked suspiciously like sympathy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ford sat down, which drew Bill’s attention well away from his grandniece. He slid two plates out of the stack, tossed a slice of cheese on each, and pushed one over to Bill.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked at it quizzically for a moment, but he knew it was food, and he saw the twins eating it, and after a moment, he picked it up. He did his little routine examination of it, smelled it, and took a small bite.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Apparently the cheese was hotter than he’d expected because he drew in a hissing breath and then spat the food onto the table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dipper wrinkled his nose at it and put down his slice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bill!” Ford snatched a napkin and thrust it at him, “Clean that up! We don’t spit out our food.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Good God. How the hell could he scramble eggs and not know table manners?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then again, he of all people  could understand not wanting Bill around during mealtimes (or ever).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill, for his part, did scrape the half-eaten cheese off the table without comment. Ford watched out of the corner of his eye as Bill attempted to eat for the second time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a bit of a power trip to watch the same entity that had tried to murder your family obey you without question. And it was surreal-- a silent Bill Cipher. At least when he talked he was liable to spill his plans, or get distracted. Now he seemed to be protecting his ego by saving that. The only time he’d snapped and shouted was during the Mentum experiment, and that was only with his thoughts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which led to memories.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which led to Other Ford.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d never met his dimensional alternates, although he’d seen a few Other Fiddlefords. Even if he’d crossed paths with one, it wouldn’t have been smart to stick around, especially after meeting a certain one of Mabel’s alternatres.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But in the stretches of a multiverse, it was impossible that there </span>
  <em>
    <span>wouldn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> be a Ford like that. One that would try to trick a powerful entity and order it around. One that would slice it wide open with such relish.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not that he himself hadn’t done his fair share of that kind of thing, but never on living creatures, and never for the kind of sick pleasure that had been plain on Other Ford’s face. He wasn’t a sadist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But even if Bill had been a good -- person? entity? being?-- at one point, he didn’t have an excuse. Ford had been through more than his fair share of shit, and he wasn’t an abuser, he didn’t lie and manipulate and murder. Not without good reason. Not unless he had to protect himself or his family. And he certainly hadn’t committed genocide.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And as human as Bill looked, it was easy to remember he wasn’t. He walked funny, and his movements were sharp and stilted, as if he only really knew how to move one muscle at a time. There were those unnerving almost-slitted eyes, the slightly off teeth, and above-average height. He wasn’t a demon --demons were, by definition, creatures from hell-- but he </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>a monster. No matter how scared he looked, or how sorry he acted, or how vulnerable had been that day in Ford’s arms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ford stopped that train of thought where it was. It was making his chest hurt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He forced himself to eat a little. He knew logically he couldn’t function without food, but his appetite was a thing of the distant past. Still, he tried to make sure he ate three meals a day, to appease Lee if nothing else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Awkward silence,” Mabel commented. “Anyone wanna talk about anything?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dipper drummed his hands lightly against the tabletop, but said nothing. Ford knew he wanted to go back to being alone and working on whatever it was he was doing, the same as he did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ima take that as a no, but I </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> wanna talk so too bad.” She grinned, but it faded a bit when no one else seemed to find her little joke funny. Ford gave her a small smile. She was only trying to help.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So Bill, you ever tried pizza before today?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked over at her. He seemed to have been doing rounds of everyone at the table, as if one of them were going to suddenly get up and kick him or something.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>they’d</span>
  </em>
  <span> had to live in fear of him killing them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a moment, Bill said, “no,” and Ford elected to ignore the fact that his mouth had been full when he spoke. He didn’t really feel up to explaining basic functioning to him right now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you think?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill’s eyes narrowed a fraction, but then he seemed to almost relax. “Haven’t eaten much of anything before, but I’d say this is pretty up there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you need to eat, in your old form?” this time Dipper had asked the question. Ford noticed he’d taken his journal out again. He groaned internally. He didn’t want this dinner to stretch on any longer than it had to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not in the conventional sense I guess. I needed energy, but I could get that from dreams.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you steal mental energy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Used to. Now I’m…. this.” he looked down at his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are there others like you?” Dipper asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He destroyed his own dimension,” Ford said. “Killed all of them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill folded his hands. “I did do that.” He looked at Ford, and he was almost smiling. Bill’s unnerving eyes were focused just above his own. “Because you asked me to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Give me proof and I’ll believe you,” he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill stopped talking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t want to be hooked to to Project Mentum, so that would make a pretty good punishment for him, especially after he tried to murder Dipper in the besement that afternoon. Except Ford wasn’t sure he wanted to see any more of… of any of that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But there would be a punishment, definitely. But not until tomorrow. He was too tired to do any more testing, and too sick of seeing Bill’s new face and hearing his voice and--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ford gripped the underside of the table. He was panicking. He needed to breathe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He closed his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was quiet, except for the soft shifting of someone in their seat, and the others’ own  breathing if he listened hard enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he opened his eyes again, the twins were watching him. He gave them a small nod, to let them know he was fine. Mabel gave him a thumbs up, and Dipper nodded back, but still, no one spoke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ford stood up. If the twins were going to eat, he would let them do it in peace. He was done, and Bill had finished his slice. Rationally, he knew neither of them had eaten enough, but they needed to be done, for now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took Bill downstairs and locked him back in his room, and then returned, blessedly alone, to his room to read something mindnumbing until he was tired enough to sleep.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>he was lying about the being forced to destroy his own dimension part<br/>just thought i should clear that up bc hes a slippery boi</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Dreams and Wakings</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Oof I have updated again!<br/>What's this? Bill finally makes some fucking progress????? OWO</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Bill fell asleep eventually. He knew he was going to have to, and it was better sooner than later. The process of falling asleep took an annoyingly long time, especially that hovering-on-the-edge part where his consciousness blurred and he only held a faint sense of being. Then he ‘woke’ again in his mindscape, in his old body, alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After his escape from the Gleefuls and through everything afterward, Bill had been careful to keep his mindscape closed off and safe. He returned there often in the past, to get away from the Henchmaniacs when they became too much, or when he just needed a break.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was mostly nothing, but a soft kind of nothing, with gold light suffusing it. He’d always liked gold.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But having a huge void was kind of weird. Even though it was all the same, there was no way to know if you were in the same place as last time, and being able to move forever without getting anywhere was a bit… not </span>
  <em>
    <span>scary,</span>
  </em>
  <span> just… desolate. Almost melancholy. So he had a few things in the ‘center’ of his space. A small brown tea table with, of course, hot tea ready for him when he wanted it. And even though he could float, he had a chair. As wonderful as it was not to have to obey gravity, it was nice sometimes to be connected to something.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>None of it was real of course, but it felt real, and that was the important part (especially since reality was a shaky concept anyway).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill wasn’t planning to stay in his own mindscape tonight, though. It was hard to find peace of mind (haha) anymore, when he had a real, physical form to worry about-- and of course, his plan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was itching to make some nightmares. And just because he </span>
  <em>
    <span>could</span>
  </em>
  <span> make himself known in their minds doesn’t mean he </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> to. It could be his silent revenge. Besides, their fear would be delicious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he left his mindscape. It wasn’t a lucid dream, per say, more of a space outside of him, in the astral. Lots of beings went there unknowingly in their sleep, although like that they couldn’t maintain any sort of coherent form outside of an orb. So all he had to do was concentrate on one of the Pines, and he could reach their subconsciousnesses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He really wanted to torture Sixer first. Bill knew him best, how to give him a dream that would trap him in a cold sweat, not quite enough to let him snap awake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Sixer also knew </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span> best. If the nightmare was too clear, or too well-tailored, or lasted too long…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe it was best not to risk it, for now. Bill clenched his fists, a quiet part of him pleased when flames appeared although he was mostly just furious. He wasn’t the kind of being that should have to worry about risks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill let the flames dissipate. He would just pick another of the Pines and take it out on them. All his anger and terror would turn into theirs, and they would scream, and it would be beautiful, and he would feel much better.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He decided on Pine Tree, then closed his eye (he didn’t really need to, but it helped him concentrate) and found his way to Pine Tree’s mindscape.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t anywhere near as well-kept as Bill’s was or Sixer’s had become. He’d probably never consciously used it before Bill had tried to communicate to him through it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pine Tree’s mindscape was desaturated and gray. Bill wondered briefly if he had any juicy memories to go through, but decided against looking just yet. He was here for a reason after all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A fun reason.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill floated over to where Pine Tree’s consciousness was centered and tapped into it. He was already dreaming, it seemed. It wasn’t a pleasant dream either, Bill could tell, even though nothing bad was happening in it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was one of those parts of a nightmare where everything was still. The part that gave you time to dread.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This one had been fabricated by Pine Tree’s own mind of course, so it was a bit faulty. There was a lot more potential in his surroundings, for instance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pine Tree was standing in the Mystery Shack gift shop, alone. It was still a familiar place to him, one he associated with safety. Pine Tree’s head wasn’t doing what it could have with the taxidermy smell or the hack-job displays. There wasn’t nearly enough teeth on the antlered bear head. But it did get points for the rumbling coming from outside, and the dark, bruised, lighting, like there was a bad storm coming on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This dimension had storms, right? Maybe. Probably different kinds though. Oh well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was also small again, only a little taller than the gift shop counter, the way Bill had remembered him. Of course, he had the same hat with the blue pine tree that marked him as one of Bill’s circle members.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fear in the room was very close and tight, nearing a panic, tightening around Pine Tree’s lungs. The turning point was coming. Invisible to him, Bill floated down to get a good look at his face. Wide eyes, tight jaw, pale with fear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a sudden sound from outside, and Pine Tree let out a painful kind of gasp that made Bill feel giddy and warm. And then he recognized the sound.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was </span>
  <em>
    <span>him.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Laughing. It echoed. He kind of missed that echo. It was very intimidating.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His laughter grew louder and closer to the shack, and Bill noticed Pine Tree step back in fear. He closed his eyes, and for a second, his features evened out. Bill could feel his consciousness surfacing the smallest bit. He was reminding himself something. That this was a dream.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It must be a recurring nightmare.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Pine Tree’s focus snapped with the laughter suddenly stopped, and Bill saw his own eye, large and red, peering in the gift shop window.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He felt Pine Tree’s rising panic, threading up to his chest, and the rabbit flutter of a heartbeat, and the fear-paralysis that had taken over his dream body.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was scared of Bill. It felt good. It felt good.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Right?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This felt familiar.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream-Bill called teasingly to Pine Tree in a reverberating sing-song. “I have Shooting Star. Come out and try and stop me, before I ₭łⱠⱠ her!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The paralysis released Pine Tree, suddenly, and he ran for the door, which stretched out ahead of him. Bill watched him panic as he tried to run. He was always ever almost there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tick-tock Pine Tree! I’m getting tired of waiting!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was crying as he ran. The door handle was inches away from his outstretched hand. Bill watched him strain for it. His fear was permeable and, in the way things could in dreams, it wrapped and suffocated Pine tree’s whole body, slowing him as if he were trying to run through honey.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This really did feel familiar. That ache in his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wait, his chest?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill looked down, and found himself in a perfect copy of his fleshbag body.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That </span>
  <em>
    <span>wasn't</span>
  </em>
  <span> supposed to happen. So why did it? He loved nightmares. He loved fear. That was his whole MO, right?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just not when it was his own fear. And it wasn’t-- it was Pine Tree’s! He shoved the other’s emotions away from him. He wasn’t afraid, he was enjoying this, he was… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anxious?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill wanted to be a triangle again. He needed to be separated from this body because it wasn’t his-- bad things happened when he was in it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He watched Pine Tree’s hand brush the doorknob.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he was in this body, it was easier to remember.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pine Tree managed to grab it, finally. He threw the door open just as Shooting Star screamed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was afraid of Bill the way Bill was afraid of him. And that was right, it was deserved.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Visceral fear in a humanoid form. Vulnerability. Fragility. Those words should never be associated with Bill Cipher.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But when they were --and they were, now-- what then?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was not him. He was a creature of dreams. He was simple and small and loved tea. He was utterly powerful and no one could hurt him. He wanted to be real. He wanted a body that could touch and taste and feel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He did what he wanted, and if he did something wrong, it was the fault of the people that made him that way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Outside the dreamed shack, Dream-Bill loomed huge and red and monstrous, ink-black eye and bared teeth. He held Shooting Star, also young in the dream. She was limp and bleeding.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something that felt deep and bad and </span>
  <em>
    <span>bad</span>
  </em>
  <span> slammed into Pine Tree hard enough to echo out to Bill. He clutched at his stomach, but the feeling did not go away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>None of this was going how he’d imagined. It needed to stop. He wanted it to stop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill lifted a hand and waved the dream away, leaving them both in Pine Tree’s mindscape. Pine Tree’s body faded from its usual physical form, which had been brought out for use in the dream, to the small ball of his consciousness as he fell into uninterrupted sleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He watched Pine Tree rest. His mind was fully quiet. Bill wondered how often he was able to do that on his own anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had no real idea of how much time had passed since he’d died and the AXOLOTL had brought him back, but it had been a good bit of it. Enough for Shooting Star and Pine Tree to fully mature into adults of their species. It could have taken a few months or a few decades-- he didn’t know much about humans, and his lovely infinite knowledge had been stripped from him. Rrrgh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For how many of those nights had Pine Tree dreamed this dream? How many nights had he felt that same abject terror of Bill?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And why did he feel so weird? Like there were things crawling on him?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No. He needed a distraction. Why shouldn’t he go take a look at those memories?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If Shadow’s memories were like a house, Pine Tree’s were like a… like a journal. With moving pictures on the pages. Well, it was certainly more organized than Shadow’s. He moved to the beginning of them, not spending much time on each-- he couldn’t quite focus on anything except the need to </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> focus on the feeling in his pseudo-stomach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a pretty arrangement of thoughts and memories. Detailed in some places, fuzzy in others, neat but worn, like a well-thumbed book.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>None of it involved demon-summoning, or magic-- up until the same summer they had met. He didn’t seem to be particularly cruel to his sister or to the creatures they had around their house. He was still quiet, and spent much of his time alone, but not in a brooding way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In short, his history was nearly unrecognizable from what Bill was familiar with.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was still Mason Pines. It was still </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span> in there. It was the same essence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But part of him wondered what this Pine Tree would have done if he had been the first one to summon Bill, back when he was still naive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dipper woke up to sunlight peeking through the closed blinds and bleeding onto his face. He put a hand over his eyes, shielding the brightness away, then scooted up to sit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel exhausted upon waking. He’d had the nightmare, hadn’t he? Dipper tried to remember.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yeah, he'd had the nightmare, but it had stopped just before the Bad Part. It had just cut off, melted away into… nothing. And then he’d woken up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He glanced at the clock. 9:47.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d slept in. He’d actually slept in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Was he finally getting better? Dipper tried not to get his hopes up. After all, shouldn't he be getting worse? He had been, since Bill showed up. But now, somehow, his dream head--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wait, wasn’t Bill a </span>
  <em>
    <span>dream demon?</span>
  </em>
  <span> What if he was messing with him? No, why would he stop a nightmare? He would never. Besides, they’d stipulated that he not mess with their heads.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Although, honestly, Dipper didn’t expect him to respect that boundary.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He slid his legs over the edge of the bed. Today was a new day and he didn’t have any plans. He couldn’t see himself relaxing much, what with the constant anxiety of Bill Cipher being back. He knew Mabel had reconnected with her friends, but Candy worked at the Shack and Grenda was always coming by to see her anyway, so it wasn’t as if she had to go very far or be worried about not being there to help.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Most of the older teens Dipper and Mabel had hung out with had moved out, either going to college or getting work elsewhere. Wendy was still here, though. They’d texted a little, although they had stopped checking up on each other recently. But she’d said she was waiting a year before starting college.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could always go see Pacifica. But he wasn’t sure if she would want to see him. They hadn’t been on </span>
  <em>
    <span>bad</span>
  </em>
  <span> terms, but… well, she wasn’t the most tactful person to be around. Still, it would be kind of rude not to check up on her and Wendy, now that he was back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he couldn’t just waltz up to their doors, right? He should go find Mabel. She was always better at this sort of thing. Conversations came naturally to her-- she said what she felt unashamedly, and the people that didn’t like it had to deal with it, or leave. And he respected that about her, especially because she was never intentionally rude and tried her best to be friendly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dipper picked the beat-up baseball cap from his nightstand and put it on. He was still wearing the same shirt he’d worn for the past few days, and it was starting to smell. So he took the hat back off, rummaged through his suitcase for something else short-sleeved. He didn’t really have the energy to take a shower.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which meant he probably didn’t have the energy for talking, either.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d gotten a better night’s sleep than usual, but he wasn’t that kind of tired. He just felt… burnt out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This summer was supposed to be the start of his apprenticeship. Him and Grunkle Ford, studying the occult together. And getting to see Grunkle Stan and Mabel and Soos when he wasn't working. Getting to be back in Gravity Falls. Walks in the woods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was what he really needed. To get out of the stuffy apartment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dipper finished dressing, picked up his backpack, and left the apartment. Since he was planning on staying for the foreseeable future, he should probably unpack at some point. And get a paying job. Definitely that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He kind of suspected the reason the Grunkles were able to afford four separate apartment rooms was because of Fiddleford’s help. But Dipper was going to pay for his own shit, just as soon as he got that job…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Damn, there was so much he needed to do, burning and heavy on his shoulders. Unpack, job, deal with Bill, apprenticeship-- no. No. he needed to get outside. He needed to clear his head. Taking a walk always helped him calm down and now? Now he was home, back in the Falls. He would be fine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dipper slipped down the two flights of stairs to the ground floor of the complex and out the sliding door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was cloudy today. Light gray stretched in waves across the entire sky, thankfully not heavy enough to rain anytime soon. The air was softly warm and a bit breezy, playing gently on his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He made it to the treeline pretty quickly, but didn’t fully relax until he was out of sight of the town, the sounds of cars and smell of pavement left long behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Leaves and pine needles littered the ground. The soil underneath was soft and rich from the decaying plant matter, and smelled thickly of earth. Tree branches stretched above him, and combined with the clouds they made the forest quietly dim. This was the border of the forest still, though. Nothing dangerous passed through here-- it was too close to the town, to people and car exhaust and empty space.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was good to be back. He felt his shoulders and back loosening, and the muscle memory of fox-walking coming back, nearly silencing his footsteps as he hiked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were several landmarks in the woods. This close to town, there were spray-painted arrows and criss-crossing trails. Further out there were rivers, rock formations, the tree where he’d found the third journal, and…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He frowned. Was Bill’s statue even still there, now that he was back?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>During those last few minutes of true Weirdmaggedon, when Bill had entered Grunkle Stan’s mind, his physical form had been left behind him as stone, hand still outstretched from the deal he’d just made, eye tilted up in an unfriendly smile. Dipper had visited it a few times before he’d left that summer, and the next one, afraid that it would be gone, or cracked, that something might have happened to make Bill come back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The statue had been nestled in a small clearing. It had looked out of place, clean, new stone in the middle of the woods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That second summer, it had settled in more, almost an inch of it buried in earth that had been moved by animals and wind and rain. Tall grass had grown up around it, and moss had attacked its surface. The stone had been cold to the touch, still a bit wet from that morning’s dew. Still, solid, and dead. After that, he’d stopped coming to check on it. It had been a whole year. Everyone was safe. Everyone was getting better.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dipper kicked at a patch of wet leaves. If only Bill had </span>
  <em>
    <span>stayed</span>
  </em>
  <span> gone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The clearing wasn’t very far from where he was, in fact he was coming up the ridge to it now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill’s statue was gone. There was an indent in the earth where it had stood for seven-odd years. The grass around it looked a bit trampled, some of the earth distrubed. There was a small piece of yellow fabric stuck to the rough bark of a nearby tree. A birch. Dipper picked it up and rubbed it between his fingers. It was soft and slightly damp. He let it fall back to the forest floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill had woken up in this clearing. He stopped for a moment to think how strange that was. An all-powerful being suddenly waking up in a human body, laying in the mud.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wondered how long Bill had waited there. If it had been night or day. If he had panicked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dipper hadn’t been checking the statue. Bill had had his chance to just walk away-- although it would have been hard to find someone to teach an adult man how to function. He probably would have either died or ended up in an institution.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But instead he’d come to find them. Was delusional enough to think he could take them out with a small stick.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then they’d taken him home with them. Because unlike him, they weren’t monsters. They gave him a place to stay and food to eat… even if the place was a small, dark room and the food wasn’t quite enough…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He should not be feeling sorry for Bill Cipher.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At least, not the maniacal triangle who had popped into their dimension to take it as his own ‘for laughs’. But there was someone else in there. Someone who had been very, very afraid, and had apparently solved that problem by seizing control of everything he could.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And even though he’d told Bill they were nothing like those alternates, Dipper couldn’t help feeling that they hadn’t done much to prove otherwise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dipper’s phone buzzed in his pocket and he fumbled it out. It was Grunkle Ford.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you coming to the Shack? I want to take another look at Cipher, but per Stanly’s new rules you have to say it’s ok.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can’t we just agree over the phone?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A staticy sigh. “There’s a hyperventilating space demon here who says otherwise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stuffed the phone back into his pocket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The walk back to the edge of the woods seemed shorter than the one in. Dipper took a last moment to breathe in the forest before stepping back out into the open of the town. So much for his peace and quiet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He found Mabel at the shack, chatting with Soos, who was in-between tours. She held a steaming mug, and a box of tea bags was sitting out on the counter. Hot tea in the summer. Dipper understood how it was weird, but he and Mabel liked hot drinks any time of the year. The small, concentrated heat was just kind of comforting, he guessed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey Dippin’ Sauce, where have you been?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Went on a walk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She raised an eyebrow. “You were still asleep when I left.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was a short one. Grunkle Ford called me, he needs my help with-- something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bill?” she guessed. She set the mug down carefully. “Um. I did talk to him a bit, yesterday aaaand he said something about dimensional alternates. Do you know anything about that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dipper winced. “Yeah. Grunkle Ford hooked him up to Project Mentum and… we saw some stuff play out on screen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nightmare fuel, pretty much. Good, old-fashioned nightmare fuel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“British dog men,” Soos said knowingly, “I knew they were out there somewhere.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His phone buzzed in his pocket again. Grunkle Ford was probably getting impatient. The walk to the shack had taken at least fifteen minutes, even after he’d gotten out of the woods. “I have to go. Talk later?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Definitely,” Mabel said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Soos watched him leave. “Is that a twins thing or…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah. He needs to sit down and explain this whole thing to all of us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dipper went down. The elevator doors rolled open, revealing Ford standing centimeters away from him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aaagh-- Grunkle Ford!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dipper! Sorry, I was about to go up and look for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was just a long walk.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ford stepped back to let him out and they walked to the lab together. He unlocked Bill’s door (the passcode was the same as the elevator), revealing the dream demon sitting in the far corner of the room and glaring.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He refused to come out,” Ford told him. “Apparently a small examination is too much to ask for.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What does a ‘small examination’ entail, exactly?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ford shrugged. “Small things. The usual things you would get at a check-up, for now. See how similar his anatomy is to ours.” He must have seen something on Dipper’s face because he continued, “Not like that-- from the outside.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That doesn’t sound too bad.” He glanced back at Bill. “I agreed to it, so, come on out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill just wrinkled his nose at them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not going to be anything bad, I swear. We just want to look you over a little. Grunkle Ford isn’t going to hurt you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stay and make sure he doesn’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dipper looked at his Grunkle. “Can I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ford nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll stay,” Dipper said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a moment, Bill picked himself off the floor and walked over to them. Seeing them so close to each other, Dipper realized that Bill was taller than Ford.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They went out to the lab, and Ford motioned for Bill to sit down on a small table. Dipper remembered Ford treating his and Mabel’s injuries there after Weirdmageddon. Later, he’d brought some of his supplies upstairs and done what he could to help the other residents, while the hospital rushed to get itself back in order.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill sat quietly on the table while Ford took out a stethoscope and listened to his heart and breathing, then went to write something down. There was a small chart in his notebook with only one row of lines written in it, and he filled out two numbers in the second row. He stayed still while Ford checked his ears, and only squirmed a little when the light was brought out and Ford held his face to steady it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dipper noticed his chest rising and falling rapidly. Bill watched every one of Ford’s movements as he checked the demon’s blood pressure. It struck Dipper as oddly funny. Grunkle Ford checking a demon’s blood pressure. Absurd, really.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was what he loved so much about Gravity Falls. The absurdity. This was the kind of place where you might see anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, lie back,” Ford instructed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because I said so, Cipher.” He put a hand on the demon’s chest, firmly pushing him down. Bill shoved at the hand, propping himself upright against it. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Bill</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Lie down. I’m not going to do anything malevolent.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked at Dipper for help.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wait.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill looked at Dipper for help?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took a few steps closer, stopping at Ford’s side. What was he supposed to do? Comfort </span>
  <em>
    <span>him?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Dipper bit his lip, then decided what the hell and went for it. “Hey, uh, it’s okay. Just lie down.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was floored when Bill actually listened to him, letting Ford’s hand push him down into his back. Ford folded Bill’s borrowed sweater up, exposing his chest and stomach. Bill crossed his hands over his stomach immediately. “What are you doing?” he demanded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill was still breathing rapidly. His ribs were pronounced, pushing a bit against his skin. He hadn’t spent much time in a human body, and he’d been dehydrated and malnourished for most of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Guilt clawed, unbidden, at Dipper stomach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ford pried at Bill’s hands. “I’m just going to feel around, okay? It’s fine.” He collected both of Bill’s wrists in one hand and held them away, using the other to press Bill’s stomach, feeling lightly for a liver and kidneys. Bill squirmed on the table, craning his neck to try and see what Ford was doing. He made a small noise in the back of his throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ford finished his examination and tugged Bill’s sweater up. He frowned. “You could do with another wash.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ford put a firm hand on his shoulder and guided him away. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up and then you can have something to eat.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I turn away and close my eyes<br/>But it's hard not to visualize some<br/>Good old fashioned Nightmare Fuel<br/>Good old fashioned Nightmare Fuel<br/>I close my eyes and turn away<br/>But half my mind still wants to play with<br/>Good old fashioned Nightmare Fuel</p><p>- Lemon Demon, Nightmare Fuel</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. TIMELINE BREAK</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ayyy this is the point where [Broken Timelines] branches off from this fic!</p><p>You can find it <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28351125/chapters/69462702">here</a></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. HAPPY NEW YEARS! Have some Bill :)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I've officially decided to call this AU the Doubles AU (because I can't think of a better name)</p><p>The only real rule for the AU is that Bill = Will ig</p><p> </p><p>ANYWAYS I haven't gotten the next chapter done yet but I made a smol bunch of sketches of Bill doing things from this fanfic, if you like it I can make more :) (did forget to put the eyepatch straps on one of 'em tho haha)</p><p> </p><p>Really tired rn but I might touch it up and repost tomorrow </p><p>
  
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Progress</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Aight this one's a little short but I didn't want to force it to be any longer than felt natural</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Will knew something was up when he was called to Mabel’s room that evening. He didn’t know how he knew, but he did. She’d called on him plenty of times in the two months he’d been here, and so had everyone else.</p><p>But this time was different.</p><p>He followed the familiar path through the service tunnels, watching the light on his wrist cuff out of the corner of his eyes. It buzzed again, still her calling. She was getting impatient.</p><p>He was almost there. Will turned the corner and found her door. He opened it quietly.</p><p>It was dim, the room lit only by her bedside lamp. She was in her white nightdress, but her bed was still made and her hair pulled back with her show ribbon (although the sapphire pendant had been tucked back into its drawer). Her desk was littered with brushes and makeup. She was wearing a black lipstick she usually saved for special occasions.</p><p>Will ducked his head in the way he had been taught, and although he was on the other end of the mansion he still somehow felt Sixer’s presence, ready to slap him if he looked up too soon. “Mistress.”</p><p>“Demon.” She slid off the bed, he could see her feet drawing close to him across the carpet. “You can relax now, you know.”</p><p>Will lifted his head. Although she was seventeen, close to full maturity by human standards, she was still shorter than him, her head coming up to his chin.</p><p>“How are you liking your body?” she asked.</p><p>“It’s… nice?” He sucked in his lip and chewed on it anxiously.</p><p>“I’m glad you think so. I designed it myself.” Mabel shook her head, “No one else in this family has a lick of artistic talent.”</p><p>She reached out and touched him gently, stroking the underside of his jaw. “I designed you perfectly. We only need to work on your attitude.”</p><p>Mabel brought both hands behind his neck and undid his bowtie, letting it fall to the floor. He bent to pick it up.</p><p>“No.”</p><p>He stopped. He searched her face. “What’s going on? Why did you call me here?”</p><p>“We’re going to work on your attitude, like I said. If you behave, you’ll be rewarded.”</p><p>Will tried very hard not to fidget with his hands. He wasn’t a pet. This wasn’t fair.</p><p>He wanted to go home.</p><p>Hope flared in his chest, suddenly. Maybe that was the reward! Going home!</p><p>He couldn’t help the small smile that wormed its way onto his face. “Yes, Mistress.”</p><p>Mabel smiled back at him. She slid one of her arms around his waist and guided him to her bed, where he copied her and sat down. There was a ball of light anxiety in his stomach. What if he messed up? If she didn’t let him go?</p><p>He would just have to try his best to obey her. Just this one time.</p><p>It would be worth it.</p><p>Mabel brushed his neck gently, around the edges of his jawline. “You’ll be good for me, right demon?”</p><p>“Yes, Mistress.”</p><p>Her hands drifted around and down to his collarbone, stroking the ridge of it. Will shivered slightly. It felt soft. Nice. “You’ll obey me?”</p><p>“Yes, Mistress.”</p><p>“Good. Then tonight will be our little secret.”</p><p>Her fingers dug into his skin as she pulled herself practically into his lap. Her legs clamped around his waist like a vice. She went for his jawline again, this time with her mouth, running her tongue along it and biting it gently.</p><p>Will did not move. He closed his eyes, trying to field the sheer amount of sensory input being thrown his way.</p><p>An itchy, uncomfortable heat pooling down into him.</p><p>The muscles of his throat tightening as she chewed on his skin.</p><p>Greasy smears of black lipstick.</p><p>Her hands holding his head in place, fingers netted behind his neck.</p><p>Mabel pulled back, breathing a bit faster than before, and he let himself sigh. He focused on the cool air around him. The odd, intrusive sensations were gone.</p><p>“Will.”</p><p>He opened his eyes to find her face level with his.</p><p>“You’ve never done this before, have you? No, you don’t need to say anything, I can tell. I’ll do all the hard work. All you have to do is let it out. Whatever you’re feeling, any sounds, anything, let it all out.”</p><p>She stared at him for a long moment, until he remembered to say, “yes, Mistress.”</p><p>The smile returned, hungry. “Good boy.”</p><p>Will felt sick.</p><p>She started playing with him again, this time attacking his mouth.</p><p>He tried to focus on the end goal. He would go home.</p><p>It was nice there. Warm. There were others like him. He preferred to live alone, but he could always see them, fitting around in the distance, building their own dreams. He never was very good at making dreams. He preferred to be in them. He liked to watch them play out. </p><p>Will had one special favorite. He didn’t totally understand what happened in it, but it made him feel good. He would follow it around sometimes, watching different people dream it.</p><p>It was full of gold light. The dreamer could not fly, but the ground underneath them was soft, almost feathery, strewn with hundreds of colors from across the multiverse. There was a large turquoise lake-- the main reason he’d chosen that blue-toned color for himself. Sometimes the dreamer would go into it, and it was cool without being cold, perfectly clear and full of twisting, shining creatures that he didn’t have a name for.</p><p>Will decided that that was the first thing he’d do when he got out of here, watch that dream for a good century or two.</p><p>His focus was shattered when Mabel started licking the inside of his mouth. It took all his self-control not to tear himself away from her. Her hands had fallen from his neck, were now creeping up inside his shirt. A small sound slipped from the back of his throat, unbidden. Mabel’s teeth crashed down on his lower lip and he cried again.</p><p>He squeezed his eyes shut even tighter and thought about the dream again.</p><p>Will was pretty sure that most of its dreamers were children. They always looked smaller and softer. Or maybe their dream-selves simply felt younger. The surroundings changed sometimes, depending on the species of dreamer. But the lake always remained its lovely blue.</p><p>Mabel was chewing down hard on him now. Will felt his eyes beginning to water.</p><p>He wondered who had built the dream. He wondered if they were still around. If they followed it invisibly, like him. If they were proud of it. He hoped they were.</p><p>She was tearing at his clothes. He felt new, cold air on his skin. Her mouth fell lower and lower along him, sending sickening bolts of electricity down his skin. She dug her painted nails into his thighs, spreading them.</p><p>Will wanted to scream. He wanted to run.</p><p>His back arched involuntarily, and he hugged himself.</p><p>She wouldn’t stop. Why wouldn’t she stop? Wasn’t everything else enough for her?</p><p>Her long brown hair had slipped from it’s bun in tangles, sticking to the sweat of his legs and she leaned over him. He wanted to tear it out. He wanted to kick her away.</p><p>He needed to go home.</p><p>Will bit his lip, already wet from her spit and his blood. His teeth slid into the indentations hers had left. Something big and terrible was building in his throat. She pushed her hips against his and he found himself yelling.</p><p>She never seemed to tire.</p><p>***</p><p>Dipper watched Ford and Bill leave through the massive hole that had become the entryway to the lab. It had been partially boarded up by Soos, who was used to having to repair the shack from various incidents both mundane and supernatural. </p><p>He felt kind of bad for intruding on Soos for the past few days, but Soos had said the lab was all theirs and he didn’t much mind the company-- although he may have just said that last part to be polite.</p><p>Although… If Dipper set up in his office down here, he wouldn’t have to worry about paying rent on the apartment. All he needed was a sleeping bag or something, maybe a microwave. It might cost a bit, but it would be better in the long term. Plus he could be closer to Bill in case something went down.</p><p>Practically speaking, he knew Bill couldn’t get out of his room. He’d gotten upset enough times that even if he was a perfect liar he should have snapped and used them by now. On all fronts, they should be safe. But Dipper still worried. It was his specialty, after all.</p><p>He went to his office, which was mercifully unaffected by the destabilizer blast. Except for a dried splattering of pen ink and the stacks of boxes he’d pushed to the walls, the floor was clear. There was a small desk and a chair as well, with an antique lamp Stan had fished up somewhere for him.</p><p>Dipper tossed his backpack down where, a few days ago, a cranky demon had been laying spread out on the floorboards.</p><p>They had made a deal then, kind of. He wondered if Bill would still hold to it (if he had been at all). Because he couldn’t shake the feeling that Bill had something to do with his dream last night.</p><p>The two times the dream demon had bothered him in his sleep, there was a very strong sense of another consciousness sharing his headspace. And although he’d been too wrapped up in the nightmare to feel it, Dipper had caught a maybe-trace of someone there just as he slipped out of it and into deep sleep.</p><p>He could just be paranoid.</p><p>But it would be safer to double check.</p><p>There still wasn’t a motive, though. Then again, maybe Bill had come to bother him for something again and got caught up in watching his nightmare. He was from the NIghtmare Realm after all, he probably lived for that shit. Maybe he had a good laugh and got bored of it, or he wanted to look around Dipper’s head without him knowing, so he lowered his consciousness.</p><p>Which would suck a lot because one, it was <em> his private thoughts </em> and two, that meant he in no way intended to hold up his end of the agreement with them and the Grunkles even if they took care of him.</p><p>God damn, it wasn’t even midday yet and he was overwhelmed.</p><p>He needed to make a list. If he organized everything, he would feel a little better. Dipper sat down at the desk and pulled out his notebook.</p><ul>
<li>Ask if there’s an extra sleeping bag somewhere</li>
<li>Look up job listings (?)</li>
<li>Ask Ford for future plans</li>
<li>Move suitcase to office</li>
<li>Eat breakfast (?)</li>
<li>Talk to Bill about the dreamvisiting</li>
</ul><p>Wasn’t much, but it was a start.</p><p>Dipper poked his head out of the office. He could see Grunkle Ford waiting tiredly outside of his room, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. A moment later, Bill opened the door and came out, wearing another one of Ford’s sweaters-- this one red instead of gray. His hair was damp and hung over his eyes.</p><p>He wondered if he should wait to talk to Bill alone. Ford would definitely yell at Bill, not that he didn’t deserve it, but… Dipper shook his head. It would be easier to talk to both of them one-on-one, if his hunch turned out to be correct. And Bill would be more likely (maybe) to tell him the truth than Ford.</p><p>Because he did seem to be genuinely scared of the man.</p><p>He watched them head for the elevator and wondered if he should join them. He hadn’t eaten yet today, and he should probably do that, even if he didn’t want to.</p><p>Dipper caught up to his Grunkle  just as the elevator doors slid open. He caught Bill side-eying him as Ford guided him into the elevator.</p><p>The ride up, as always, took a minute at most, although it felt longer. Especially with Bill eyeing them both a bit predatorily. But he stayed still, hands folded against his chest, and made no move to run or fight.</p><p>Just as the doors opened again, Ford took hold of Bill’s upper arm, giving him no chance to run. The three of them stepped quietly into the kitchen.</p><p>It was nearing noon, now, and the sun had fully risen behind the clouds. Pale gray light spilled in the windows, silvering the coffeepot. Mabel had since left the kitchen, hers and Soos’ mugs balanced next to the sink.</p><p>Ford went and started up the coffeemaker again, keeping half an eye on the demon waiting by the counter.</p><p>“Make yourself something. You know how.” He went to fish through the cabinets for a clean mug.</p><p>Dipper watched from the doorway as Bill found a pan and tossed it disagreeably on the stove with a clang. He ripped the fridge door open and took out a carton of eggs and some milk.</p><p>Wait. Was he actually going to try to cook?</p><p>Dipper glanced at Ford, who was watching coffee pour slowly into the pot with a resigned expression. He didn’t seem to have any qualms about letting Bill use the stove.</p><p>Despite the way he was throwing things around, Bill actually seemed to know what he was doing. Dipper stared as Bill fucking Cipher carefully cracked eggs into the pan. And then turned on the stove and cooked them.</p><p>What in the ever-loving <em> hell. </em></p><p>Once he’d decided they had cooked enough, he grabbed the pan by the handle and crossed the kitchen, putting the table between him and Ford. And then he just started eating. Out of the pan. With his hands.</p><p>He didn’t even bother to sit down.</p><p>He did, however, keep casting almost accusatory looks at him and Ford, as if they were going to come and take his eggs. Dipper thought that was a little ridiculous.</p><p>Then again, what about this situation <em> wasn’t? </em></p><p>Dipper went and helped himself to some of the coffee. There was a huge crush of mugs in the leftmost cabinet, a few of them stacked on top of each other. Some of them were chipped or defective ones from the gift shop, others had been sculpted and fired and painted by Mabel in one of her obsessive phases. Every one of them had glitter mixed in with the clay.</p><p>He looked fondly at the one she had painted with his little blue pine tree, nestled beside another with a shooting star on it. It was a bit difficult to grab it out without causing an avalanche of clay and ceramics, but he managed.</p><p>He fixed his coffee with the quite-possibly-expired creamer in the fridge (he’d tried it black like Ford, but couldn’t stand it). By the time he looked up, Bill had devoured all of his eggs, and was just kind of standing there. Ford chugged the rest of his drink and grabbed Bill by the arm again. “Alright, back downstairs.”</p><p>Dipper almost felt bad. Bill had gotten to come up for what, ten minutes? And now Ford was shutting him back in that room. He really only ever came out for Ford’s tests or to eat. That was kind of depressing to think about. </p><p>He’d hate being stuck in there-- too much time to think.</p><p>Then again, once Ford locked him in and left him, Dipper could finally go and confront him. So that was nice. He waited for the other two to go down first and finished his coffee, giving Ford time to move on to other things. Then he slid his mug in line with the other two and followed.</p><p>Dipper didn’t see Ford in his lab.</p><p>He headed for Bill’s door and typed in the code, one hand on his stun baton. He opened it.</p><p>Bill was sitting there in the same corner as always. He frowned at Dipper.</p><p>He looked over his shoulder (still no Ford) and let himself the rest of the way inside, closing the door behind him.</p><p>“What do you want?” Bill said tiredly.</p><p>“Did you mess with my dreams last night?” Dipper asked, then backtracked, reminding him “you said you’d answer my questions if I answered yours.”</p><p>Bill narrowed his eye.</p><p>“Last night my dream stopped abruptly, and I felt you in my head. You were there, weren’t you?”</p><p>A pause. “I’m guessing I can’t convince you otherwise?”</p><p>“You broke our agreement.”</p><p>“...Yes.”</p><p>“You stopped my nightmare. Why?”</p><p>“I have my reasons,” he said elusively.</p><p>“Yeah no, none of that shit. <em> Why? </em>”</p><p>Bill picked at one of the scratches on his face. “Because I didn’t like it.”</p><p>“You… didn’t like my nightmare.”</p><p>“It was boring.”</p><p>“So why didn’t you make a new one?”</p><p>“I didn’t feel like it.”</p><p>“Bill.” Dammit. Why was he trying so hard to see good in him? Maybe he just wanted to mess around in his head. Maybe he wanted to lure Dipper into a false sense of security. Who fucking knew? “If you tell me the truth, I bring you something. I’ll bring you a blanket.”</p><p>He straightened a little against the wall. “More than that.”</p><p>“Two blankets?”</p><p>“Food.”</p><p>“Oh,” Dipper said. “Are you still hungry?”</p><p>Bill nodded.</p><p>He felt a pang in his stomach and pushed it away.</p><p>“Alright. I’ll bring you a blanket and some food. If you tell me the truth.”</p><p>“Deal?” he asked.</p><p>“Deal.”</p><p>“Fine.” Bill curled slightly into his sweater. “I didn’t like that you were dreaming about me.”</p><p>“I thought you wanted us to be scared of you?”</p><p>He didn’t say anything. Just watched Dipper in silence for a good minute or so.</p><p>“Did it… remind you of something?”</p><p>“I answered your question, Pine Tree.”</p><p>Dipper sighed. You know what? It was progress. He went to open the door. “I’m going to go get those things for you. And then we can talk more.”</p><p>The door was closed. He thought he’d cracked it?</p><p>Dipper pulled on the handle.</p><p>It was locked.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Two things:<br/>1) Bill may or may not be joining a cult of other bills in an alternate timeline and<br/>2) I made a small playlist of songs that gave me the Emotions and Inspiration TM to write this story so Ima paste the link here<br/>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-ZbMi6VbkIA&amp;list=PLrJB2-ZLiFwdPyfUgL3ICeBFJNkYlumbI</p><p>If you're gonna listen to any of the songs, listen to this one OH MY GOD its so good on so many levels<br/>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1LBx2YjDtYg&amp;list=PLrJB2-ZLiFwdPyfUgL3ICeBFJNkYlumbI&amp;index=3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. Disco Demon</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A/N: Disco girl lyrics courtesy of kat on quotev </p><p>https://www.quotev.com/story/6712253/Disco-girlby-baba</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Pine Tree twisted the doorknob and pulled. Once. twice. Three times.</p><p>It didn't open.</p><p>Holy mother of<em> FUCK. </em></p><p>Bill was done with this conversation. He was done trying to appease Pine Tree. He wanted to be left alone.</p><p>And to have the promised food, and the blanket. Ax knew he deserved them.</p><p>Now not only was he being denied his end of the deal (and powerless to take revenge, what with Pine Tree’s weapon dangling casually from his free hand) but he was going to be stuck in the room with him for the foreseeable future. Which meant that he couldn’t even lie down and try to sleep.</p><p>RrrRRrrgHhh. He wanted to break something.</p><p>“Uh, Bill?”</p><p>Pause.</p><p>“I think the door’s locked.”</p><p>“No shit, kid.”</p><p>Pine Tree’s hand fell from the handle. He hit the door a few times with the baton-- a loud, harsh metal sound.</p><p>“Don’t waste your time. Sixer’s gone.”</p><p>“How do you know?”</p><p>“He said he wouldn’t be back until dinner.”</p><p>“Which is… what time is it?” Pine Tree pulls something out of his pocket, something square that glows and that Bill should know the name of, but doesn’t because of the stupid salamander in the sky. “Shit.”</p><p>Bill didn't ask what he saw. He wasn't sure he cared, and knew Pine Tree would tell him anyway, in that small, annoying voice of his.</p><p>“That’s five or six hours from now. And I’ve got no cell service.”</p><p>Bill didn’t know what cell service was (again, <em> stupid salamander) </em> but that figured. This place was probably magic-proofed in ten thousand different ways, as well as with whatever technology Sixer could scrape up.</p><p> Also, hours. He had no idea how they translated into Standard Galactic Time. But it was probably a good amount of the stuff, seeing as they had to wait all the way until Sixer dragged them up for dinner. So if he tried to divide that he could get maybe a guess of it. How many hours were in an Earth day anyway?</p><p>Not that he cared all that much.</p><p>Pine Tree put away the glowing thing, and they were cast back into near-absolute darkness. Bill got a bit more upright, in case he needed to move. He listened for footsteps.</p><p>But Pine Tree stayed where he was, cursed, and then turned the light back on. It was small and blue-white, and lit up his face in a cold way.</p><p>“Um. The truce is still on, right?”</p><p>Hah. He was the one who was armed, but he was still, somehow, nervous of Bill. That was nice. Not that it really helped anything except his ego.</p><p>Bill watched him pace a bit in front of the door, the little light bobbing as he walked. It hadn't even been very long, and he was already pissed off. The only good part about being stuck in here is that the Pines left him alone.</p><p>“Yes,” he said finally, tiredly. “It’s still on.”</p><p>Of course, this didn’t stop Pine Tree from twirling his weapon around in boredom and basically being unconsciously threatening. </p><p>“So--”</p><p>“No,” Bill said.</p><p>“No?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“You’re gonna sit there in silence the whole time then?”</p><p>“What do you <em> think </em> I’ve <em> been </em> doing down here?”</p><p>“That’s… fair.”</p><p>Hah. Since when did anyone believe in fair? How was anything supposed to be dished out evenly in a universe made of pure fucking chaos and entropy? Well, Bill mainly was the chaos. But it didn’t rely on him so much as he relied on it.</p><p>Somewhere out there, one of his henchmaniacs had probably taken over that job. Maybe that's what the AXOLOTL had done with his powers, if the greedly thing hadn’t taken them for itself. Because energy couldn’t really be destroyed. Then again, all it really did was nap and fuck people over. It had probably transferred them.</p><p>Bill briefly wondered to who. And if it had been one of his henchmaniacs, they would have taken over the gang now. Probably Pyronica, but maybe Kryptos. Not that Kryptos would last very long in any kind of position of power.</p><p>Pyra, however, was queen material. Powerful, devious, and a diva. She had the attitude. That was why she had been his second-in-command. She worked well, and it was enough to keep her from trying to dethrone him (not that she could have). </p><p>She would keep the others in line. Keep them fed and safe for as long as she could. Then again, the Nightmare Realm was due to close in on itself sometime soon-- although time there worked very differently than it did here, much less linearly.</p><p>Still, Bill would have been able to do better. He should have been able to do better. But he’d fucked it up.</p><p>And now he was here. Like this. Kept by <em> them. </em></p><p>They were supposed to be <em> dead </em> and this world was supposed to be <em> his </em> and <em> safe </em> and <em> home. </em></p><p>He wondered if he could find a way to contact them. If they would take him back, like this. Not that this fleshbag body would last very long in the Nightmare Realm.</p><p>He probably remembered the sigils. At least Pyra’s-- she was easily summonable. The others weren’t exactly demons so much as lost beings swept up in the chaos.</p><p>And the Nightmare Realm was where a lot of accidents and experiments and the dregs of countless societies wound up. But once you were there you couldn’t really leave. All you could do was scrape out a life for yourself and kill.</p><p>Kill to be safe, and kill to eat.</p><p>Originally, Bill had travelled alone. He never did need anyone else. But he found the others slowly, tolerated them, and decided to bring them along. Why the hell not?</p><p>They… reminded him of himself.</p><p>When he’d escaped the Gleefuls, he’d been shunted into that Realm, but his powers had come flooding back to him. But the maniacs? They were dead meat, considering the number of other variously skilled hunters. If they were lucky they’d be killed cleanly, or starve. If they were unlucky...</p><p>So he’d decided, the next time he managed to get into a third dimension, to wipe out another set of Pines, he wouldn’t let the wreckage seep back into the Nightmare Realm. He would keep it separate, and stable. A safe place for them to live and go on without him. </p><p>Of course, that was before the imminent collapse of the Realm itself became a concern.</p><p>Maybe they were all dead by now. Who knew?</p><p>Of course, he could try to talk to the AXOLOTL, too, but they wouldn’t listen to him. The whole point of this was to punish him-- and for what?</p><p>The Pines needed to be stopped and purged before they picked apart any more creatures. They had a habit of summoning them for fun, or running tests on things they found in the woods, disrupting the natural order of things in the name of science.</p><p>Not to mention what they had done to <em> him </em>.</p><p>He shoved his face in his hands and glared out at Pine Tree, who seemed to have finally, fucking <em> finally </em> tired of pacing. He was leaned back against the wall staring down at the box thing.</p><p>Goddammit, he swore he knew that word…</p><p>Bill wondered if Pine Tree would have kept his word. The Pine Tree he knew usually didn’t make offers he didn’t intend to keep. He didn’t really find toying with him that entertaining. He was much more interested in his cryptid books, and badgering him for information about the Fall’s weirdness, and the weaknesses of demons, and such things that he really shouldn’t get to know.</p><p>This one… (according to the memories he’d seen, at least) seemed to be mostly reliable, when he could be. It was a point of pride for him.</p><p>He’d given up his time and respect and belongings to greedy little Shooting Star that summer, and he <em> still </em>hadn’t learned to ask for anything in exchange, unless he was trying to bribe someone.</p><p>Which meant that if Bill had asked for those things <em> without </em> offering information in return, he probably still could have gotten them.</p><p>Hmm.</p><p>How far could he push it, and how much could he get?</p><p>Now might not be the best time to play with that, but still. When else was Pine Tree gonna be stuck in here with him?</p><p>“What are you holding?” Bill asked, first.</p><p>“Cell phone.” He looked up. “Why?”</p><p>“Can I have it?”</p><p>“Uh, no. I need it. But you can look at it I guess.”</p><p>Pine Tree sidled up to him and held out the phone. Bill took it.</p><p>The light was very bright. It hurt a bit to look at, but since he had to keep half <strike>an</strike> his eye on Pine Tree anyway it didn’t matter much. Bill glanced down at the screen every few seconds. There was a picture on it, of Pine Tree and Shooting Star at some kind of ceremony. On top of it were small squares with stupid nonsense words on them, like “Google.”</p><p>He pressed on one, experimentally. And it opened up and covered the screen with white. There was a small bar in the center of it. He frowned.</p><p>“You click on it, and type in what you want to know,” Pine Tree said. He seemed to be… seemed to be <em> amused </em> by Bill’s confusion.</p><p>And he had come a good bit closer, leaning over him to see what he was doing.</p><p>“There’s no internet in here though, so it won’t work,” he took the phone back out of Bill’s hands. He didn’t put it away, but didn’t look back at it either, keeping it out as a source of light. Bill noticed that he’d clipped his baton back onto his belt.</p><p>Pine Tree sat down next to Bill, thankfully giving him a good foot of space-- although honestly, he would have preferred a lot more. Pine Tree crossed his legs and watched him. Bill watched him right back.</p><p>“Well,” Pine Tree said, “I don’t know why you stopped my nightmare, but… thank you.”</p><p>Bill frowned.</p><p>“As long as you don’t do anything bad or-- or go through my memories and stuff, I won’t tell Grunkle Ford about it.”</p><p>Hah. Well, he already <em> had </em> gone through those.</p><p>Bill ground his teeth together as he considered. He had done Pine Tree a favor, a <em> free </em> favor… but it was making him more receptive to Bill. That was good. That could be continued. Beneficial.</p><p>So not free. And Bill was getting the better end of the arrangement, because it would lead to trust, and favors, and, eventually, a proper window for escape. In the meantime, Pine Tree was willing to give him extra food and a blanket. Bill wondered how much more he could coax out of him. He really did seem to go for the pity points. He’d looked almost <em> guilty </em> when Sixer had had him out on the hospital table.</p><p>Bill shuddered a little, internally. He’d had to expose the most vulnerable part of his stupid fleshbag body.</p><p>But he <em> had </em> listened to Pine Tree when he’d said to lie down, for two particular reasons. One, he’s just been in his head. He… was still, even now, processing the differences between Pine Trees. But it didn’t feel explicitly dangerous. </p><p>And two, Pine Tree would think Bill trusted him, would listen to him. And if he showed compliance in front of Sixer, he would be more likely to bring Pine Tree around the next time and the next, and he wouldn’t feel as free to do just as he pleased with one of his beloved niblings looking on.</p><p>Bill was playing this well. He would get out, he would, he would.</p><p>***</p><p>He quietly cursed at himself for being so stupid. Of course the room wouldn’t be unlockable from the inside. And he hadn’t meant to close it entirely, although he’d not wanted to leave it wide open either, in case Bill made a run for it, again.</p><p>He was still staring at Dipper, his knees pulled up to his chest, elbows leaning on them and chin in his hands. It was creepy, but he guessed he couldn’t expect Bill to know the minutiae of human social etiquette-- how long to look at someone, when to look away, eye contact, all that.</p><p>“When you leave, can I still have the stuff?” he asked, suddenly.</p><p>Dipper blinked. “Yeah. Of course. You answered my question.”</p><p>He seemed satisfied… <em> comforted </em>by this. “The deal was a blanket. And food,” he reminded Dipper.</p><p>“Yeah, I kno--”</p><p><em> “How much food? </em>”</p><p>“Oh. How much do you want?”</p><p>He lifted his head a little, and interlaced his fingers over his nose. He seemed to think for a moment. “Ten pieces of toast.”</p><p>“Just toast?”</p><p>“You’re agreeing to that amount?”</p><p>“I mean, I could get you that, but you should probably eat something besides just toast.”</p><p>“So ten pieces of toast <em> and </em> something else?”</p><p>Dipper shrugged. Why not?</p><p>Besides, he was pretty sure Bill hadn’t been eating a healthy amount these last few days-- and he hadn’t had much meat on him to start with. He probably wasn’t in danger of losing that much weight or growing malnourished, but still. He was hungry, and he couldn’t feed himself.</p><p>“Eggs,” he said, and then tried, “five?”</p><p>“You just-- I’ve never seen you eat anything except toast and eggs.” And one piece of pizza, once. And a sandwich he himself had gone and made for Bill. Grunkle Ford seemed to find it hard being around Bill long enough to take proper care of him.</p><p>Dipper didn’t <em> want </em> Bill to get off easy, but this wasn’t getting off easy. This felt… gross. Inhumane. And they were only reinforcing what Bill thought of them, and what had made him come after them in the first place. </p><p>That they wanted to hurt him.</p><p>“What else do you have?”</p><p>“Uh, crackers, pancakes, probably some fruit somewhere, sandwich stuff,” cookies and chips, but Bill needed something more substantial than <em> dessert, </em> “uhm… probably some leftovers I could heat up.”</p><p>Bill thought this over. “How much of each?”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“How much of each?”</p><p>Dipper shook his head. ‘You can’t have <em> all </em>of that. I’ll make you something.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Dunno, but I’ll find something.”</p><p>Dipper leaned his head back a little to lean it against the wall. He was tired of craning his neck over his phone, which was starting to grow warm in his hand. It still had an alright amount of charge, it would last for a while… maybe not five hours, though…</p><p>He sighed. He wondered if she should just try and take a nap. Bill probably wouldn’t try to attack him again, right? He knew Dipper could fight back, and the <em> truce was on. </em> Still, he didn’t exactly want to try and lie down on the ground. His hands were already starting to feel a bit cold.</p><p>“Hey. Wanna hear some music?”</p><p>Bill snorted. “Think you can sing without your voice cracking a hundred different ways?”</p><p>“No-- music on the phone.”</p><p>Bill looked from him to the phone curiously. “Eh, sure, why not?”</p><p>Dipper pulled up his playlist. He wondered what kind of music Bill liked, or had even heard. He also didn't want to pick something stupid or cheesy and get patronized by the demon in the basement. So he held out the phone and said, “You pick.”</p><p>After a moment, Bill took it from him. He stared at it awhile, scrolling up and down, playing with it.</p><p>“What kind of music is on here?”</p><p>“Uh. Pop, mostly.”</p><p>Bill looked up at Dipper, with an odd, half-smiling expression. “You still listen to Disco Girl.” he said.</p><p>He felt his face heat up. “Hey! it’s a good song.”</p><p>“That remains to be seen.” And of course, Bill put it on.</p><p>It sounded weird and a bit tinny, coming from his phone’s little speaker. At least the room didn’t have an echo.</p><p>Dipper shifted uncomfortably as the first lyrics played. It <em> was </em> a good song!</p><p>
  <em> “You can disc-- you can co! Go be a part of the showww!” </em>
</p><p>Bill snorted.</p><p>
  <em> “Oooh, see that girl-- on the floor! You’re diggin’ that Disco Girl!” </em>
</p><p>“Seriously? This is what humans are into?”</p><p>“Bill!”</p><p><em> “Sunday nights--” </em> Bill stopped the song, and raised an eyebrow at Dipper.</p><p>He shrugged. “It’s not my fault you don’t know how to appreciate good music. What would <em> you </em> have us listen to?”</p><p>“The kind of music <em> I </em> like would probably make your small human brain bleed.”</p><p>“You’re kinda human too, now,” Dipper said.</p><p>“No."</p><p>“‘Whatever you say.”</p><p>Bill jabbed at the phone again, and the song continued playing.<em> “And the lights are briiight! Hoping that it all goes riiight!” </em></p><p>Dipper gave him a deadpan look, but Bill just grinned toothily back.</p><p>
  <em> “Mmmmmmm~ where they play the good music, that puts you in the mood! Where you come lookin for a dude!” </em>
</p><p>“If you’re just gonna make fun of me…” he leaned over and grabbed for the phone. Bill held it back out of his reach.</p><p>
  <em> “Anybody could be that maaaan~ The night is young and the music grand!” </em>
</p><p>“C’mon Bill, give me the phone back.” </p><p>He got to his feet, and so did Bill, who was very unfairly taller than him. He held the phone over his head and waved it teasingly. “Come and get it, Pine Tree!”</p><p>
  <em> “With a bit of pop music, everything is great! You’re in the mood to disco~”I </em>
</p><p>Dammit, he couldn’t quite reach. He grabbed at Bill’s wrist, trying to pull his arm down far enough to take the phone. Bill stepped back and tried to push Dipper off him with his free hand.</p><p>
  <em> “And when you get that chance-- You’ll be that Disco Girl! Comin’ throuuuuugh!” </em>
</p><p>Bill laughed, a sickeningly familiar ‘AHAHAHAHA.’ And he sang along in a mocking tone, <em> “That girl is youuuu! Ooh ooh, ooh ooh.” </em></p><p>“Bi-- hey, you know the words.”</p><p>“So?”</p><p>“You’ve listened to this song before!”</p><p>“Well, I--” Bill stopped. “I know<em> LOTS of things </em>, why wouldn't I?”</p><p>Dipper just grinned at him. “You listen to BABA.”</p><p>“<em> Listened </em>. Once.”</p><p>He took the opportunity to half-jump and snatch his phone back. Bill closed his hand around it, trying to force it back away, but Dipper wasn’t letting go.</p><p>“Come on, Pine Tree, you’re not gonna get it that easy.”</p><p>
  <em> “Disco Girl! Feel that groove! Oooh-- watch her move! Ooh ooh, ooh ooh--” </em>
</p><p>“Come on, dance for me Disco Girl,” Bill teased. </p><p>Dipper hooked his foot around Bill's ankle and tripped him.</p><p>“Hey--”</p><p>
  <em> “You’re a trickster! Make ‘em turn their heads! Catch their attention, but then the music’s dead--” </em>
</p><p>However, he still hadn’t let go of his phone, and Bill dragged him down with him. Dipper's head smacked against the concrete. “Ow. <em> Fuck.” </em></p><p>Dipper rolled over in time to see Bill sit up and make a wild grab for the phone. He snatched it to his chest.</p><p>“AHAHAHAHA, you win this time Disco Girl.”</p><p>“I think I prefer Pine Tree.”</p><p>“<em> Disco Girl! Comin’ throuuuuugh! That girl is youuuu! Ooh ooh, ooh ooh.” </em> Bill crowed at him.</p><p>“Disco demon,” Dipper said, and clicked the song off.</p><p>“Aw, you’re no fun.”</p><p>Bill looked happier than Dipper had seen him since his return. He was smiling --albeit teasingly-- but not maliciously. It looked natural. He was panting slightly, after their little tussle for the phone, and his form was relaxed. His gold eye wandered over to meet Dipper’s for a moment, “Why’d you turn it off? Aww, did I hurt your feewings?”</p><p>“Huh,” Dipper said, a smile creeping across his own face. “Thought you said you didn’t like human music?”</p><p>“It’s all I’ve got right now, isn’t it?”</p><p>He crossed his arms. “Admit it. You like BABA.”</p><p>“They’re really not <em> that </em> good.”</p><p>“C’mon Bill,” he said smugly, “You wanna listen to music or not?”</p><p>Bill looked at him for a long moment. “<em> Fine, </em>” he said, and then, in a scripted voice, “‘BABA is good,’ happy?”</p><p>“Close enough.”</p><p>They stayed there in the sort-of middle of the room with Dipper’s phone between them. Sometimes Bill would hum or sing the words to ones he remembered.  The music lasted for a good two hours or so before the power finally died, leaving them both in the dark.</p><p>He heard shifting sounds from in front of him.</p><p>“Hey, Bill? Are you still there?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>Pause.</p><p>“You care if I sleep again?”</p><p>Dipper leaned back on his hands. “Go ahead.”</p><p>“W--”</p><p>“I’ll wake you if Grunkle Ford comes back,” Dipper assured him. “Get some sleep, Disco Demon.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Updates might come a little slower, since I'm working on a second version of this (the timeline divergence) with Josephina_X and Mizuuma. It's coming along pretty well, over 60 pages (though they're not all published yet.)</p><p>It's been really fun to write.</p><p>If you're interested in it, I recommend you read Mizuuma's work "Illusion IS Reality," first, because that'll explain who Miz, Seb, ad Blue are, and how they got there. :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. His End of the Deal</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hey yep i changed the chapter, decided not to do the DID thing here like I'm doing on Broken Timelines bc it wdbhbjasdjabsa its complicated to do too many characters at once</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dipper almost fell asleep himself --or maybe he did, a little-- because the next thing he knew he was looking drowsily up at his Grunkle Ford in the doorway. The white lab light spilled into the room, illuminating his phone right-side-up on the floor, and the sleeping shape of Bill hunched over himself nearby.</p><p>Before Ford could say anything, Dipper held up a hand and shook his head sharply. Then he scooted over and poked Bill.</p><p>“...Wh…”</p><p>“Time to get up. Ford’s here.”</p><p>Bill lifted his head, blinking away sleep.</p><p>Ford looked from his grand-nephew to the sleepy demon and back again. “What in AXOLOTL’s name happened here?”</p><p>Dipper got to his feet. His knees hurt a little from sitting in the same position on the floor for so long. "Oof, ow. Um. I came in here to talk to him, and accidentally locked myself in.”</p><p>His Grunkle’s eyes were scanning his body, every bit of exposed skin. <em> “Did he hurt you?” </em></p><p>“Nah. We just talked and he just went to sleep after a while.”</p><p>“<em> Why </em> did you come talk to him?” His concern faded bit, replaced with the kind of parental anger that came from realizing your kid did something dumb and could have gotten himself injured or worse, “You should have come to me first!”</p><p>“Because it was a private question. About something that happened during Weirdmaggedon,” he added, hoping Ford would accept that and not question any further.</p><p>“Was it something I need to know about? That you should have told Stan and I?”</p><p>“I just wanted to ask him why, and hear it from his own mouth.”</p><p>Bill was looking up at him, seeming a bit disoriented. Dipper waved at him to stand up. “C’mon. We’re going upstairs.” He turned back to his grunkle. “It’s dinner, right?”</p><p>Ford nodded tersely.</p><p>Upstairs, Soos and Mabel were cooking and chattering excitedly about something. Dipper caught the name ‘Melody,’ before the conversation trailed off at Bill’s arrival.</p><p>They had made some kind of mexican food. Dipper never really liked that kind of thing, but it smelled good enough. He wondered if he should get Ford to give Bill something else, judging by how he reacted to the pizza. If he spat food again or made a scene, it would be insulting to Soos’ cooking, which was really quite good.</p><p>Turns out, Ford already had the same idea and was rifling through the pantry for some bread.</p><p>Dinner itself was quick and quiet and uneventful, full of sharp, suspicious looks and hot tension.</p><p>The kitchen hardly cleared out afterward. After all, Dipper had promised Bill he would give him a proper meal, and after spending just a few hours in that basement… he wanted to let Bill stay upstairs a little longer.</p><p>Stan left the kitchen to watch more anime with Soos in what was becoming a nightly routine-- but not before giving both Bill and Ford a significant look. <em> Behave. </em> </p><p>Mabel and Dipper usually joined them. But not tonight. They both got up from the table, but lingered in the kitchen with Grunkle Ford. Bill got up too, wanting to be on even ground with them. His toast had long since been reduced to a few crumbs. Dipper swiped the paper plate up and tossed it out. Still, everyone stayed, waited.</p><p>“Dipper, we need to talk. I’m going to take Bill downstairs and then--”</p><p>“Actually…”</p><p>“Actually what?” Ford glanced at Bill suspiciously. “Please tell me you didn’t try to make another ‘agreement’ with him.”</p><p>“I was gonna make him some more food," Dipper barreled on even as Grunkle Ford opened his mouth, “He says he’s been hungry for a while now, and he just had, what, two pieces of bread for dinner?</p><p>“Look, when we talked, he answered my question honestly. And all of this…” he gestured vaguely, “is kind of extreme. So we can talk now if you want, or later when Bill and I are done.”</p><p>“You could bring him something downstairs.”</p><p>Dipper sighed. “No, Grunkle Ford, I’m not going to do that. It’s dark and cold as shit down there. What we’ve been doing so far… it’s pretty inhumane.”</p><p>“He isn’t human,” Ford pointed out quietly.</p><p>And yes, Bill <em> was </em> the demon that had tried to kill them all. And Dipper hated him for it.</p><p>But he was going to be the bigger person.</p><p>“Look, we’re better than this,” Dipper said, turning to open the pantry, “So. Now or later?”</p><p>Ford sighed. “Now.” He rubbed tiredly at his forehead. “What happened in the basement?”</p><p>“Hold up,” Mabel said, “the basement?” She swiveled on her heel to look at Dipper, her shoe squeaking on the linoleum. “You were in the basement the whole time? <em> Where? </em> I came looking for you.”</p><p>“I kinda locked myself in Bill’s room by accident.”</p><p>“And what did you <em> do </em> in there?”</p><p>“That’s what I’m trying to ask!” Ford was clearly exasperated.</p><p>“Well, Dipper began,” half-annoyed and half-relieved that Bill hadn’t tried to join in and help him explain, “we talked for a while, because I had questions for him anyway. And then we listened to music on my phone for a while until it died, and he went to sleep.”</p><p>“That’s it?” Ford asked.</p><p>“That’s it.”</p><p>And the man relaxed a fraction, leaning back against the counter. “If you asked me first, this kind of thing wouldn’t happen.”</p><p>“Look, if I decide to go in, I’ll text one of you. You can come get me if I don’t come out within the hour.”</p><p>“I still thi--”</p><p>“We <em> know </em>, Grunkle Ford,” Mabel said. She patted his shoulder good-naturedly. “We’ll take care of ourselves and each other.”</p><p>While her brother went through the pantry to find something to feed Bill, Mabel crossed the room to him, giving him a small smile.</p><p>He seemed about a billion times taller now than he had hunched over on the floor when they had last spoken. This whole time --ever since he’d come here-- he’d been unusually quiet. No longer an all powerful triangle, not a lot of laugh about, probably.</p><p>Bill narrowed his eye at her as she approached. “What do you want?” he snapped.</p><p><em> “Cipher </em>,” Ford said warningly, from across the room.</p><p>“Well, you live here now, and we haven’t talked much and when we <em> did... </em> “ she trailed off for a moment. “Are you okay?”</p><p>He wrinkled his nose. “Why all the sudden concern?” His tone started out a bit antagonistic, but mellowed out suddenly, as if he had just remembered something. Maybe he didn’t want Grunkle Ford to yell at him again.</p><p>“I trust my brother’s judgement. And I agree with him. I… was kind of trying to ignore what we were doing because you did worse-- ‘kay that sounded mean. What I’m trying to say is, maybe, <em> maybe </em>, if you want, we can try and start over?”</p><p>Bill stared at her. She pasted on the best Mabel-brand smile she could muster.</p><p>She believed in second chances, didn’t she?</p><p>Bill did not smile back.</p><p>A certain word that passed between Dipper and Ford caught both of their attentions.</p><p>“Punishment.”</p><p>Bill went away from Mabel and back toward the other two, inserting himself in the conversation without saying a word. Ford looked at him, but otherwise didn’t acknowledge him.</p><p>“There need to be consequences for his actions.”</p><p>“Like what? You can’t just stop feeding him.”</p><p>“Gods, Dipper-- no. I am not going to do that.” Ford massaged his temples, “I was thinking Project Mentum again, or--”</p><p><em> “No.” </em> Bill nearly shouted. (They COULD NOT KNOW what he was planning, at ALL COSTS.)</p><p>Ford raised an eyebrow at him. “No?”</p><p>“You are <em> not </em> allowed to poke around my head,” Bill said.</p><p>“And <em> you </em> are not the one in charge anymore,” Ford replied smoothly.</p><p>“What’s goin’ on? What’s with the noise?” Stan stood in the doorway, looking about as exhausted as he could for a man who did nothing except laze around all day.</p><p>“Dipper and I were brainstorming,” Ford said.</p><p>“Punishment for Bill,” Dipper added, quieter.</p><p>And Stan nodded. “He does need one, for tryna kill you, among other things. And what were you thinkin’ of?”</p><p>“Mentum,” Ford said, as if it were nothing.</p><p>“Which is?”</p><p>“It--” Ford began.</p><p>“It’s a thing that-- it reads your thoughts and memories and stuff,” Dipper explained for him. He winced internally at having used it, and the thoughts that must have ran across the screen. Probably more than a few about Wendy… he was glad Grunkle Ford had never brought that up.</p><p>And if he was that self-conscious of his own thoughts, Bill probably was too. It was only rational-- which was kind of ironic, for Bill, actually.</p><p>“And Bill was yelling because?” Stan prompted.</p><p>“My thoughts are <em> mine </em>.”</p><p>Stan glanced at him, “Mhm. So, you were brainstorming. Any other ideas?”</p><p>Dipper honestly didn’t really have any. They couldn’t <em> take away </em> any of the few things Bill had-- water and food and clothing. They could only <em> do </em> something to him, and that was icky territory, morally.</p><p>“Examination,” Ford said, after a moment, “I’ve been wanting to do a blood draw. But that’s hardly a punishment.”</p><p>Bill’s head snapped up at the words ‘blood draw,’ just as it had at the words ‘Project Mentum.’</p><p>It was safe to say he didn’t like the idea of that.</p><p>Which meant that it would kind of be a punishment? But definitely not something atrocious.</p><p>Good.</p><p>“We’re going to do Mentum,” Ford said decisively.</p><p>Bill made a low, angry sound, but didn’t say anything, as he was now essentially trapped between the two older twins.</p><p>“Do the draw,” Stan said. “He doesn’t have anything to his name ‘cept his mind’s privacy. And wait until tomorrow, I don’t wanna have to police anything between you tonight.”</p><p>“Lee--”</p><p>Dipper touched his grunkle’s forearm. “Tomorrow.” </p><p>He, too, didn’t want to have to deal with more shenanigans right now.</p><p>Ford stayed in the room as Dipper finished putting together the sandwich and set it out on the table for Bill. Mabel did as well, setting out a clean knife for him after seeing him wash an apple, and got some milk out of the fridge while he sliced it (Dipper was pretty sure Bill wasn’t equipped to eat a whole apple by himself.)</p><p>Altogether it wasn’t a huge meal, but definitely more substantial than toast. It had some protein in it, and some fruit, and some milk to drink. Mabel had chosen the whole milk, which was smart, because Bill probably needed all the calories he could get at this point.</p><p>It was exactly the same kind of sandwich Dipper had made for him before, so hopefully the familiarity of it would feel safer to him.</p><p>This time, Bill didn’t sit down to eat. Probably because everyone else was standing as well.</p><p>He went for the sandwich first, as Dipper had kind of predicted.</p><p>It was slightly nauseating to watch Bill eat. He had no grasp of table manners, and only seemed to be concerned with putting as much food in his face as he could, as fast as he could. The meal disappeared in about a minute, maaaybe two.</p><p>Which was actually kind of impressive, in a way.</p><p>He drank the milk last and kind of held onto the cup, giving Dipper a look, which Dipper took to be him wanting more.</p><p>As much food as he’d promised Bill, he didn’t mean to give it to him all at once. He did not need ten pieces of toast on top of that, and his “dinner.”</p><p>Dipper probably should have clarified.</p><p>“What do you want?” he asked.</p><p>Bill held out the cup, side-eying Ford-- who looked infinitely tired.</p><p>Dipper poured off another cup of milk. “You can go to bed if you want. Mabel and I can take him back downstairs when we’re done.”</p><p>“I’m fine. I’m not going to make you responsible for him.”</p><p>When Bill finished his second drink, and things had gotten substantially more awkward, he conceded. Ford straightened up from where he was leaned against the fridge. He took hold of Bill’s forearm again and walked him back to the elevator.</p><p>While he was doing this, Dipper made a trip upstairs to the linen closet to grab a couple of old blankets. They had never moved completely out, since the Grunkles spent most of their years at sea and he and Mabel had lived with their parents until now.</p><p>Not much space to keep things.</p><p>He dragged the blankets down the stairs (he’d grabbed maybe four, five?) and stuffed them into the elevator with him.</p><p>The first two were dropped off in his office/new bedroom, and the last three he brought to Bill.</p><p>He hadn’t been expecting any more visitors that day, because Dipper found him sprawled out with his back to the door, singing to himself one of the BABBA songs they had listened to earlier.</p><p>“Hey, Bill.”</p><p>He turned around at the sound of the door, and his name. Dipper came in (making absolutely sure not to close the door behind him) and set the blankets down. “I brought these, as promised. And you can have the rest of your food later.”</p><p>Bill reached for the nearest blanket carefully and touched it. It was soft. He gathered it up and tucked it around himself.</p><p>“‘Night, Disco Demon.”</p><p>“You’re never going to get tired of that, are you?”</p><p>“Nope.”</p><p> </p><p>----</p><p>anyways enjoy this bill art bc this chapters short as shit</p><p>i had a ton of time in hospital waiting rooms recently sooooo i drew</p><p>theres a speedpaint of it on my youtube (luxxydraws) if y'all interested</p><p>
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>im back<br/>wow<br/>its been a few weeks HHHHHH--</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. RRGHHH</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>yep heres another one haha</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Pine Tree fell into dreams, Bill was waiting for him. The nightmare started up again like clockwork, the dread, the cold dark of the dream-Shack. He waved it away before it could properly start.</p><p>Pine Tree’s consciousness didn’t completely fade, though. He seemed to realize what was going on, maintaining his consciousness in the Mindscape.</p><p>“Bill?”</p><p>He willed himself invisible, even though he’d already done it once upon entering. He wasn’t sure exactly why he wanted to do this, but he did, so there.</p><p>“Yes?” he answered, after a moment.</p><p>“Ah, thought it was you.” Mindscape-Pine Tree shrugged. He was wearing the same thing as he had that day, hat, sweatshirt, jeans. “Thanks for stopping it again.”</p><p>Hah. Pine Tree <em> thanking </em> him?</p><p>And better yet, here in the Mindscape he could <em> feel </em> that it was genuine.</p><p>Stupid, silly little Pine Tree.</p><p>“Did the blankets help any? Also, you didn’t go to sleep hungry, right? I didn’t wanna feed you too much and make you sick.”</p><p>Bill blinked. He floated a little closer to Pine Tree, frowning as much as a triangle <em> could </em>frown.</p><p>Why? Did he even care?</p><p>He didn’t (except Bill could feel that he did.)</p><p>And this was just a tactic to make him soft, to manipulate him <em> (he could feel that it wasn’t.)</em></p><p>He needed to come up with a good, strategic answer <em> (dear Chaos he had no idea what to do.)</em></p><p>Leave. He could leave.</p><p>Pine Tree would ask why tomorrow. But tomorrow wasn’t now.</p><p>He paced a little --did it count as pacing if you were floating?-- and rubbed one of his sides in thought.</p><p>This silence was drawing on very awkwardly long, and he wasn’t sure how well Pine Tree knew how to use his Mindscape yet. Could he tell that Bill hadn’t left yet? Was still lingering, quietly? Kinda creepily? Rocking back and forth indecisively in the ‘air?’</p><p>Yeah, he should definitely go.</p><p>“Bill, you know I can see you, right?”</p><p>WELL FUCK.</p><p>He shot up to ‘distance’ himself from Pine Tree, immediately, until he was just a tiny speck below Bill.</p><p>
  <em> He should leave </em>
</p><p>So… why hadn’t he? <em> Why did he kind of not want to? </em></p><p>Curiosity. Yes. Curiosity. He wanted to see how this played out.</p><p>Except… he wasn’t playing his part correctly. He wasn’t being his confident, smooth-talking self, or probing closer around Pine Tree’s thoughts and emotions. He didn’t <em> want </em> to see them any closer.</p><p>
  <em> WHY? </em>
</p><p>“Uh, what are you doing?”</p><p>He didn’t have a proper answer for that. Or any answer at all.</p><p>So he held perfectly still and waited.</p><p>“...Are you okay?”</p><p>“Yes.” At least he knew the correct answer to that one. UGHHHHH what had <em> happened </em> to him? He had recessed so damn much these last few days (or weeks? Hard to tell time <em> locked in a basement). </em></p><p>“You’re sure?”</p><p>“YES.”</p><p>“Then why’d you run all the way up there? You brought me out here, and now you’re… hiding?”</p><p>“<em> Actually </em>, you brought yourself into the conscious Mindscape. I just stopped your dream.”</p><p>“Oh. Neat. But you’re still hanging around, so, why?”</p><p>THAT’S WHAT HE WAS TRYING TO FIND OUT.</p><p>“You wanna come back down?”</p><p>“NO.”</p><p>And Pine Tree stifled a laugh.</p><p>Pine Tree was <em> laughing </em>at him? RUDE.</p><p>“Seriously Bill, what are you doing?”</p><p>“Nothing.” And that was actually true. So.</p><p>“Uh-huh. Not going through my memories or anything?”</p><p>He fidgeted with his bowtie. “I don’t <em> care </em> about your stupid memories, Pine Tree.”</p><p>“Right. Well, I don’t know what’s going on with you but I’m gonna come find out.”</p><p>What?</p><p>And then Pine Tree was suddenly standing beside him, looking a bit startled. “Woah… Okay. That actually worked.” He glanced down, but there was only the same nothingness beneath his feet as before.</p><p>He returned his attention to Bill, who hastily dropped his hand from his bowtie, deciding not to flash away again just yet.</p><p>“Alright, what’s going on, Corn Chip?”</p><p>He crossed his arms. “I am NOT a corn chip.”</p><p>Pine Tree sighed. “So, how about answering my questions from earlier? Is your physical body okay right now?”</p><p>Bill had not gone to sleep hungry, for once. His stomach had hurt, but not in the empty-needing-food way. And he hadn’t been that cold, either, he hadn’t had those shaking body spasms as he tried to get comfortable on the floor.</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Good,” Pine Tree said, and offered him a <em> smile. </em> “And you’re acting like a nervous wreck right now because…?”</p><p>“I am ALSO not a nervous wreck.”</p><p>Pine Tree snorted. “C’mon Bill, I’m a professional nervous wreck. You can’t fool me.”</p><p>“I am leaving now!” Bill announced.</p><p>“Then I’m going to come into your room and wake you up so we can keep talking.”</p><p>“That’s not fair.”</p><p>“Too bad. Now spill.”</p><p>WELL, this was not an ideal situation. So. To pick something to tell Pine Tree that was convincing but also not the truth (obviously).</p><p>Easy. He had an excuse, and a very believable one. One that was also kind of true, but worked in his favor on the oh-poor-Bill-let’s-let-him-closer-to-the-outside-and-escape front of things.</p><p>“My punishment,” Bill said, after a good, dramatic pause.</p><p>“Really don’t like needles, huh?”</p><p>This, Bill was pretty sure, was a rhetorical question.</p><p>“Makes sense, considering your past… that’s actually really fucked up, by the way. So, yeah, they were definitely not in the right.”</p><p>“I KNOW THAT.”</p><p>“Right, yeah, good. But victim-blaming is a thing, so just thought I’d put that out there.”</p><p>He HAD gotten himself into that situation, BUT they had taken advantage of him, and he was NO LONGER such an idiot as Will. He’d even picked a new name, to prove it.</p><p><em> “But </em>… you kind of acted like them.”</p><p>“DID NOT.”</p><p>Pine Tree listed off on his fingers, “Let’s see... manipulation, cages and chains, enslaving people, trapping people in Deals--”</p><p>He could <em> feel </em> himself burning angry red-white. “S̴͉͗H̷͇̚Ù̴̧T̵̫͋ ̵͔̈́Û̵̡P̵̧͊.”</p><p>But Pine Tree was too smart to be afraid of him in the Mindscape. Not like this.</p><p>Bill grew himself up into the same monstrous form as Dream-Bill did in Pine Tree’s nightmare, black and red and fanged and, hopefully<em> , </em> painful to look at.</p><p>Pine Tree just shrugged. “Nice try?”</p><p>Bill rumble-growled at him, and Pine Tree <em> rolled his eyes. </em></p><p>“Alright Bill, calm down.”</p><p>“W̶̹̓h̷̳̑ȍ̷̫ ̵͈̏ả̷̘r̷͚͒e̷̘̽ ̶̰̿Y̶͉̔Ȏ̶̰U̸̗̔ ̵̳̉ť̶̹o̴͉̅ ̶̼͗t̸̹̉è̸̤l̵͇̊l̶̻̋ ̶̝̉m̴̹̿e̷̯̐ ̴̻̓t̸̹̄ö̷̤ ̷̖̏C̴̢͛A̴͔̓L̸̟̽M̷̜͘ ̷̫͊D̴͇̎O̷̯͌W̸͕͗N̷͑͜?̸̛̺”</p><p>“I can hardly understand what you’re saying. C’mon<em> , </em> Disco Demon, calm down. Just-- well, I guess you can’t do breathing exercises in here, can you? Uhm. Well, first thing’s first, you gotta stop thinking so much, at least for now. And, find something ‘physical’ to ground yourself with.” </p><p>Bill glared down at him, and he shrugged again, “Trust me man, I’m an expert.”</p><p>Pine Tree placed a hand lightly on Bill’s bricks, a movement which immediately drew all of Bill’s attention.</p><p>He. Was. Touching. Him.</p><p>Gently? Slightly warm.</p><p>Also, why?</p><p>Who was <em> he </em> to touch <em> Bill Cipher? </em></p><p>“See, there you go,” Pine Tree said.</p><p>And Bill realized that he had shrunk a little, yellowing out. He pulled himself back from Pine Tree’s hand.</p><p>“You good?”</p><p>“WHY DID YOU TOUCH ME?”</p><p>“You needed to ground yourself aaand… you obviously weren’t going to help yourself do it. Was that okay?”</p><p>
  <em> Was. That. Okay. </em>
</p><p>His bricks ached all over, and he slammed his eye shut for a moment to try and think properly.</p><p>“Bill?”</p><p>No one had <em> touched </em>him before. Not like that. And he wasn’t sure what he was feeling, but he was FEELING IT A LOT.</p><p>“Did I hurt you?”</p><p>“No,” Bill said, his ‘mouth’ deciding to skip checking with his mind first.</p><p>“Did I… scare you?”</p><p>He did not let himself answer, clamping down on his voice.</p><p>“I’m taking that as a yes... Are you still scared?”</p><p>Don’t know. Honestly don’t know.</p><p>“You know I’m not going to hurt you, right?”</p><p>No. (Yes?)</p><p>“Here… I’m going to touch you again, on your left side, very gently. Tell me to stop if you want.”</p><p>Bill cracked his eye open, but did not move. He tracked Pine Tree’s hand as he reached out and lightly rested his hand against Bill’s left side.</p><p>“Is this okay?”</p><p>He continued to watch Pine Tree’s hand very closely. He did not move it, only took a small step closer so he didn’t have to reach out so far.</p><p>His hand felt slightly warm. Temperature was always a deliberate thing in the Mindscape, which meant either Pine Tree willed the touch warm, or Bill had. The pressure was entirely Pine Tree’s doing, though.</p><p>“I’m assuming this is okay?”</p><p>Bill blinked at him.</p><p>And Pine Tree ran his hand carefully down his side, then brought it back to its original spot, stroking it gently. “See? You’re fine.”</p><p>He was…?</p><p>“Why are you doing this?” he asked.</p><p>Pine Tree’s hand paused for a moment when Bill spoke, before continuing its steady path. “I have no idea.” He paused. “I guess… I know what it’s like to be scared. And I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. Even you.”</p><p>Bill allowed himself, ever-so-slightly, to press into Pine Tree’s touch.</p><p>“If you’re worried about tomorrow, I’ll be there. I’ll make sure he doesn’t do anything bad.”</p><p>“Even though I tried to kill you?”</p><p>“...Yeah.”</p>
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<a name="section0025"><h2>25. OWO what's this??</h2></a>
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<a name="section0026"><h2>26. Scars</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>for those who were wondering--<br/>yes absolutely 100% dumbass cat eyes like whats the point of cat eyes if you cant also have adorable big dumbass???<br/>aaaand im having way too much fun in the tags haha</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bill woke up to the sudden stream of light entering his room from the open doorway. It was Sixer, with Pine Tree standing a little behind him. He gave Bill a small, awkward wave.</p><p>The night before, after a few moments of… <em> whatever </em> it was Pine Tree had been doing, Bill had pushed him back into dreamless sleep like he had on the first night. He didn’t know how else to end the situation, but he DEFINITELY didn’t want Pine Tree coming into his room and touching his physical body.</p><p>“Come on, Bill,” Sixer said. “You can have breakfast after this.”</p><p>And he stepped back from the door a little, just enough to let Bill pass into the main area of the lab.</p><p>He walked carefully, keeping as much distance between him and Sixer as possible-- which became <em> im </em>possible when Sixer reached out again and took hold of his arm, six-fingered hand wrapping securely around his wrist. It was also warm. Human contact always seemed to have some kind of heat associated with it. Their bodies needed it and produced it.</p><p>It was annoying… but he was cold.</p><p>He hated everything about this damn situation. The itchiness of his red sweater. Pine Tree staring after them. The way he automatically went limp and let himself be dragged, an old, stupid reflex. Being <em> touched. </em></p><p>Bill wanted to <em> bite somebody. </em></p><p>“Alright. I’m going to do the usual things first, stethoscope, blood pressure, you know the drill by now.”</p><p>And Bill did. UNFORTUNATELY.</p><p>He climbed onto the table and let Sixer work.</p><p>He had two guns now, one on either hip. (They looked absurd, right next to his own stupid sweater. Like someone's crazy grandfather.) Plus probably some other weaponry hidden somewhere else, because he was somehow even more paranoid than Kryptos.</p><p>Bill stayed quiet. Quiet angry was the worst kind of angry. Because you never <em> chose </em> it. It happened by circumstance, because you were trapped, and you couldn’t just <em> set everything on fire and BE DONE WITH IT </em>.</p><p>And it was hard to get rid of. And it always made him feel maybe a lot more unhinged but HEY, that was usually a good thing. EXCEPT THAT IF HE DIDN’T WANT TO DIE he had to be CAREFUL and STUFF LIKE THAT.</p><p>RRRGHHHHH.</p><p>So he sat there. And <em> waited. </em> In that horribly familiar way.</p><p>Just holding still and letting Sixer touch and grab and poke at him wherever he damn liked.</p><p>Which NORMALLY couldn’t be over too soon, but NOT TODAY.</p><p>Because Sixer was getting out a needle.</p><p>He set it out on a side table and cleaned the tip with a sharp-smelling wipe. Then he held out his hand for Bill’s.</p><p>NO he was NOT doing that today, THANK YOU VERY MUCH.</p><p>Pine Tree was watching all this go down with his own little notebook out. Sixer wannabe.</p><p>He was watching all this go down and DOING NOTHING.</p><p>“Pine Tree?” Bill said. It came out MUCH too quiet and question-y for his liking, but his stupid human throat had all but sealed up at this point. </p><p>Sixer grabbed hold of Bill’s hand. His was much smaller than Sixer’s.</p><p>“We agreed on this,” Pine Tree told him, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he stood there. “It’ll--It’ll be fine. It’s just a little blood draw. I’ve had them before, they’re perfectly safe.”</p><p>Bill KNEW what it was. That was how he knew he DIDN’T LIKE IT.</p><p>Sixer pulled Bill's arm out from where it was tucked into his side and shoved his sleeve up. He made no comment to Pine Tree.</p><p>Because, <em> hey </em> , if the little demon was being so <em> cooperative, </em> then he didn’t mind.</p><p>Dear Chaos, Bill wanted to BITE him and SET HIM ON FIRE, and he wanted to SHOVE his SOUL down an INTERDIMENSIONAL STAIRCASE.</p><p>Sixer wiped the crook of his elbow with another sharp-smelling cloth. He had HATED that smell. He had damn well burst into tears the moment he noticed it, most days. Because that meant a day in Sixer’s care--</p><p>Sixer held up the needle. It was affixed to a small plastic tube, for holding the blood sample.</p><p>His grip tightened around Bill’s wrist. “Dipper? Come around and hold his arm down on the table.” He glanced up at Bill, the light reflecting starkly off his glasses. “I have a feeling he’s going to be difficult.”</p><p>And Pine Tree DID. He just tucked his notebook back into his jacket and came over and clamped his hands around Bill's forearm and PINNED IT DOWN ON THE TABLE.</p><p>He wanted to fight it, and this, and them. But the last vestiges of his old survival instinct held just a bit stronger, and in the end, the only fighting he did was with himself, in his head.</p><p>Bill turned his head away as Sixer positioned the needle. It went in, sharp and stinging.</p><p>It was fine. It was FINE. This was just a draw needle. It was fine.</p><p>Nothing new nothing dangerous nothing to be scared of. It hardly even <em> hurt. </em></p><p>He squeezed his eye shut.</p><p>This was fine.</p><p>A last twinge of pain as Sixer carefully removed the needle, and warm pressure as he taped a piece of gauze over the tiny puncture.</p><p>“Cipher,” he said. Bill half-opened his eye, warily. “We’re done. You can get up.”</p><p>He got up.</p><p>Pine Tree had let go of him at some point. He wasn’t sure when. He shook his head lightly, trying to clear his thoughts.</p><p>Sixer was tucking a small vial of something reddish into a small fridge. He turned around and clasped his hands together. “Breakfast.”</p><p>He had a slightly odd expression on his face, like… ah. Of course. His trying-to-figure-something-out face. Slightly scrunched up, head tilted the tiniest bit to the left.</p><p>Trying to figure <em> him </em> out.</p><p>Not more. He had said breakfast. That meant they were supposed to be <em> done </em>.</p><p>Right? What else <em> could </em> it mean?</p><p>Sixer held out a hand to him. “Come on. Let’s go.”</p><p>Oh. He knew what was expected of him.</p><p>And he <em> had </em> to do it, didn’t he? Not even a question.</p><p>Bill held out his own arm, placing his forearm in Sixer’s palm. And as he’d expected, Sixer’s hand closed around it, gentler than usual, and he led Bill off toward the elevator again.</p><p>He was semi-conscious of Pine Tree trailing behind them.</p><p>In the kitchen, Sixer put two pieces of bread into the toaster, then moved on to the coffeemaker. Their routine.</p><p>“Bill?”</p><p>He glanced over at Pine Tree and inclined his head. He didn’t feel much like talking.</p><p>He just didn't <em> want to </em>, okay? So there.</p><p>“Are you okay? After last--” quick, side-glance at Sixer, “yesterday?”</p><p>He was still <em> alive </em>. Still kickin’. That counted as okay, in his book.</p><p>A familiar, automated response started in his throat, and he swallowed it. He <em> didn’t </em> have to ‘yes, master’ <em> anyone </em> in this house.</p><p>Plus, he was no longer so sure that would win points in his favor from Pine Tree. Probably still Sixer, though. And since they were around him, Sixer would hear it. Pine Tree would assume <em> (know) </em> that he was ‘afraid.’ And, <em> voila, </em>pity points! Which could be used to garner favors and things he wanted. Maybe more food. Blankets. Maybe other things.</p><p>He mentally kicked his ego aside and said, “Yes, Master.”</p><p>See? Wasn’t so bad. Over and done with.</p><p>‘Cept the way the words had scraped his throat like thorns. Metaphorically, of course, HAHA.</p><p>Neither Pine Tree nor Sixer said anything in response.</p><p>Today, the toast he was given had something on it. ‘Butter,’ Pine Tree informed him. A safe, normal human food.</p><p>Probably.</p><p>Oh fucking well, he was hungry.</p><p>When he finished the toast, in about maybe what constituted as an earth minute, Sixer put another thing down on the table. It had a spoon in it.</p><p>Bill glanced up at Sixer and Pine Tree, to see if they would provide him an answer at no extra expenditure of his social energy.</p><p>Sixer nudged the bowl closer to him, until it touched his hand. “Applesauce.”</p><p>“It’s like a fruit thing,” Pine Tree added.</p><p>Oh fucking well, <em> he was still hungry. </em></p><p>When he had finished THAT, Sixer gave him a pre-opened water bottle.</p><p>He almost choked halfway through it, when something touched his hair. </p><p>HE HAD NOT BEEN PAYING ENOUGH ATTENTION. HE SHOULD HAVE BEEN PAYING MORE ATTENTION.</p><p>The hand withdrew. It was six-fingered. “Eh, you’re not due for another bath yet,” he said, <em> calmly, </em>and went off to retrieve his steaming coffee.</p><p>He was not returned to his room. Not exactly. Sixer certainly <em> led </em> him there. But he didn’t open the door.</p><p>Or let go of Bill.</p><p>He wondered how Sixer would react if he tried to grab his arm back. Oh FUCKIN’ well. At least it wasn’t his favorite hand (because, for some stupid reason, only one of this fleshbag body’s hands could coordinate properly).</p><p>This meant they both stood there awkwardly while Bill waited for Dr. Twelve-PhD’s to string together a proper sentence.</p><p>“Thank you,” he said, finally. “For being cooperative this morning. I appreciate it.”</p><p>Bill barely stopped himself from snorting. <em> Seriously? </em></p><p>“I’m a little curious about where your attitude went. Thought you’d have something to say about all this.”</p><p>Bill just gave Sixer a look. </p><p>He didn’t even bother expending the energy to raise an eyebrow.</p><p>He just wanted to go lay down again already and scream into the cold uncaring void of his Mindscape. That wasn’t too much to ask, was it?</p><p>“Are… you okay?”</p><p>Alright THAT was too much. He was <em> absolutely </em>justified in laughing, no matter what his plan called for.</p><p>The act itself almost caused him to stop-- the strange jerking feeling in his chest, and the lack of air that made his insides burn. He felt himself tip over a bit, but Sixer grabbing him kept him from hitting the floor.</p><p>“AHA-Ha-hhha-- BODY SPASMS-- HA-- <em> stoooop-- </em>” he tried to pull himself back upright, but couldn’t quite. His head felt kind of loopy. “Ahahaha--hahhh…”</p><p>“Bill?”</p><p>“Wh--what?” He peeled himself off Sixer. He was NOT going to engage in any more physical contact then was unavoidable.</p><p>“Well, <em> now </em> you’re acting more like your old self,” he observed, as his face contorted back into it’s figuring-things-out expression.</p><p>Oh for Chaos’ sake--</p><p>“I’m not exactly living it up in here, IQ. There isn’t much to laugh about, and I am completely at your mercies.” He offered Sixer a small smile. “I’m sure you remember how <em> fun </em> that is.”</p><p>Aaaaannnd there was that signature Sixer pout again.</p><p><em> “Bill </em>,” Sixer began.</p><p>‘That’s my name, don’t wear it out!’ Hah.</p><p>He shook his head. “We’ve both done it. I get it. It’s <em> how things work. </em> I may be insane, but I’m not stupid. Go ahead and lock me back up, <em>Master.” </em></p><p>“Don’t call me that. You didn’t even ask me to call <em> you </em> that.” Sixer rubbed the bridge of his nose, looking an unholy amount of exhausted for eight in the morning.</p><p>There was another pause.</p><p>“What do you want?” Bill asked, because he was getting tired of waiting for Sixer to spit it out. “Wanna take me back to your lab or something?”</p><p>“Um, actually…” Sixer scratched the back of his neck with his free hand.</p><p>Of COURSE.</p><p>Couldn’t catch a break in this place.</p><p>“I wanted to ask you a few things about your… vessel. Since you seem to be in a--” <em> agreeable? </em>“--talkative mood.”</p><p>HM.</p><p>FINE.</p><p>He was kind of obligated to, considering Sixer could always just… leave him to die. Or kill him.</p><p>Which was his plan ANYWAY, but Bill was trying to buy himself time here.</p><p>Ugh. Time.</p><p>Bill shoved his annoyance/anger/(fear?) down because emotions were little bitches sometimes, and asked, since Sixer always seemed to need prompting, “What do you wanna know?”</p><p>He answered immediately, which meant he’d thought this over, which meant he probably had about a centillion questions.</p><p>“How did you get it? You said you weren’t possessing anyone.”</p><p><em> Nope! </em> Now, he had to come up with a (semi-)civil answer. “This is my body. In the sense that it didn’t belong to anyone else, originally, not that I really…” Bill mentally shook himself, “not my true form. Obviously. This one’s a bit of a… duplicate. Of the one ‘Star made for me, because, ‘triangles and public don’t mix.’”</p><p>“She wasn’t wrong,” Sixer said. Infuriatingly. “And I assume you mean other-Mabel? The Gleeful?”</p><p>Fuckin’ bingo, ya genius. “Yes.”</p><p>Of course, this vessel wasn’t entirely human. There were necessary differences, for magical purposes and otherwise. He hadn’t needed to eat or sleep before, he couldn’t tire, he didn’t have such a problem with the dark, or temperature, he could heal himself-- the list went on. Others were aesthetic. Because <em> Mabel. </em></p><p>As far as Bill could remember, she’d been in her vampire-boyfriend-daydreaming episode. Which was why he had these stupidly sharp teeth. There had been other modifications in the past as she went through… phases.</p><p>Although he couldn't complain because as of now, these teeth were the best weapon he HAD. That and these stupid excuses for claws that humans had of course managed to dumb down over their evolution. It was a real miracle they’d survived so long.</p><p>“As a triangle you could heal yourself. You can’t do that now. It is because of your body? I noticed you have a few scars.”</p><p>“I could still heal myself,” which was mostly true, unless he was too drained to. But injuries weren’t lethal to him, back then. STILL, they had HURT.</p><p>“Then why the scars? And your empty socket. Do they serve some kind of… symbolic purpose to you?”</p><p>“NO,” Bill shouted, then curbed himself. He COULD NOT afford to anger this Sixer, as much as he would LOVE TO right now. “No, they do not,” he continued, much more politely.</p><p>Sixer could tell he’d struck a nerve, as he was hesitant to press. But he did it anyway, simply by holding Bill there and watching him and waiting.</p><p>Bill took in a long, deep breath, which seemed to satisfy some almost-itching feeling in his stupid humanish chest. He let it out loudly. “The scars are there. Because I was asked to keep them. For <em> reference. </em>”</p><p>Sixer frowned. He reached out and pulled Bill’s shirt up. </p><p>He clenched his jaw to keep from doing anything rash as Sixer exposed his stomach. It felt vulnerable and bad and BAD. He moved his free hand instinctively, to try and cover what he could.</p><p>Sixer let go of Bill’s wrist for a moment, moving his hand gently away from where he was trying to shield himself. He touched one of the scars lightly, the centermost one that ran down Bill’s chest and belly.</p><p>“These are very precise,” he said, at length.</p><p>NO SHIT. They were for REFERENCE. Like he’d SAID just a few SECONDS ago.</p><p>Old-Sixer had wanted to know where he’d cut before. Bill wasn’t sure about the eye thing though. Sixer’d just told him to leave it.</p><p>So he had.</p><p>And AX hadn’t FUCKING BOTHERED to fix this form up before tossing him into it.</p><p>Sixer touched his scar again without warning, and he bit his tongue.</p><p>NOT THE TIME for panicking, or fear-nosies, or crying.</p><p>Bill Cipher DID NOT DO crying.</p><p>When Bill was still his muse, if Sixer had even DARED to touch him, Bill could have told him off, or made a side comment about his extra fingers and BAM, problem solved.</p><p>Now he… just stood there. DISGRACED.</p><p>And exposed.</p><p>Very very exposed. He wanted to shove his sweater back down and get away from here RIGHT NOW now now now now--</p><p>“Uh, Bill?”</p><p>He held back a snap, and just blinked at the Pines half-crouched in front of him. <em> What? </em></p><p>“You-- <em> oh.” </em> Sixer withdrew both hands, releasing Bill and his sweater. He crossed both arms over his stomach immediately.</p><p>
  <em> WHAT? </em>
</p><p>“I didn’t… really think that would cause you… that amount of distress.”</p><p>He frowned. “What distress?” He was PERFECTLY fine and capable and handling himself and following the plan and--</p><p>“Bill. You’re shaking.”</p><p>Was NO--</p><p>Oh… ‘kay.</p><p>Shit.</p><p>That was-- no. It was FINE. It HELPED. Display of weakness, display of fear, <em> I-am-not-a-threat. </em></p><p>If only it were just for show.</p><p>Bill did his best to make his fleshbag body’s muscles stop twitching all over the place, and somewhat succeeded. He couldn’t, however, think of anything to say that would save face and align with his plan. Or even just save face.</p><p>Which he didn’t WANT to do. He needed to STOP THAT. He needed to KEEP PLAYING THE COWARD.</p><p>Like he already was.</p><p>He was fine.</p><p>Fine fine FINE.</p><p>Sixer walked right up to him, he willed himself not to back away as Sixer… went past him and unlocked his room for him.</p><p>Bill went in immediately, before Sixer could even try to grab him and drag him in.</p><p>After a moment, the door closed. Dark took over the room again.</p><p>Bill felt his way across the floor, avoiding the direction which he knew the water was in, as not to spill it. His mouth was dry, but he felt oddly repulsed at the thought of eating or drinking anything right now.</p><p>He just wanted to lay down. Find his blankets and lay down.</p><p>He managed to find the edge of one of them, and took it, wrapping it tightly around himself. He tucked the other one outside the first and sat down next to the far wall like he usually did.</p><p>When, after waiting a while, Sixer did not return, Bill allowed himself to lay down. He bundled some of the blanket over his head and closed his eye, surrounded by warm, soft pressure. He tried to sleep.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i tried</p><p>
  
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<a name="section0027"><h2>27. Friends</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hello my fellow gremlins it is once again time to enjoy the shenanigans of these fucking dumbasses</p><p>and if you're a fellow enby (or questioning) please take the time to fill out the eighth international gender census!</p><p> </p><p>  <a href="https://href.li/?https://www.smartsurvey.co.uk/s/GenderCensus2021/">survey &lt;3</a></p><p>thanks :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The room was dark.</p><p>Not that they couldn't see. They could see anything they wanted to.</p><p>They were an All-Seeing Eye after all.</p><p>But still. The room was dark. They weren't sure why.</p><p>They knew these creatures needed light to process visual input. But there was just a fireplace at the far end of the room and nothing else.</p><p>Unlike their own, this fire was a cooler orange-red, and fueled by wood instead of their... energy. They weren't really sure what it was called. But it stemmed from their Dimension, which they still felt connected to, somehow. It wasn't nearly as orderly as this one, there wasn't much solid matter. It was more... undefined. Things came and went at a whim, unless they were spun into firmer things like Dreams, and those were only solid when planted firmly in a Dreamscape.</p><p>The human who had made this Deal with them was standing across the room. They tugged at the 'cord' that connected them to the... everything. To look up this specific human.</p><p>He had a... name. A sound specific to him.</p><p>Stanford.</p><p>Stanford was pulling out a... chair.</p><p>There were so many <em> things </em>here that needed naming.</p><p>But he was pulling out a chair. At a table. He was holding the other end of the thing that bound their wrist and tugged on it lightly.</p><p>"Would you come here please?"</p><p>They floated a little closer. Stanford smiled at them.</p><p>"I am sorry about this," he raised his end of the chain. "It's just a precaution. There are many demons out there less friendly than you."</p><p>They looked up 'demon.'</p><p>There were a lot of different loose snippets of meaning for it.</p><p>
  <em> Evil spirit; devil; monster; creature from Hell. </em>
</p><p>And Hell was...?</p><p>
  <em> Realm of suffering. </em>
</p><p>"I'm not actually a demon," they informed Stanford, a little miffed at the implication.</p><p>"Then what are you?"</p><p>"I'm..." they tried to find a word. Words were a bit... new. They didn't often communicate with others of their kind. Beings did interact sometimes, but there was no particular need or want to, except to exchange ideas or trade or display Dreams. And they hadn't made one, yet. They were a little afraid to try. "We make Dreams?"</p><p>Stanford drummed his hands thoughtfully on the table. "Dream demon..." he shook his head, "I apologize, I'll leave my speculation for later." He laid his hands down flat on the table, letting go of the chain. "So. What's your name, anyway?"</p><p>"I don't have one."</p><p>Stanford tilted his head. "Really? That's... interesting. Why not?"</p><p>"We don't really do talking? Not with words like you do."</p><p>"Then how <em> do </em> you communicate?"</p><p>Stanford really did seem interested in what they had to say. There was a familiar feeling radiating from him. Curiosity.</p><p>"We use feelings. And meanings. And impressions of things-- it's hard to explain."</p><p>He nodded. "Putting the wordless into words." Stanford paused, "How about I give you a name?"</p><p><em> Them? </em> A <em> name? </em> Their own personal, specific word?</p><p>"Yes, I think I would like that."</p><p>Stanford paused, looking as if he were thinking. "I'll throw out a few names for you then, and you tell me what you like. Now let's see... Liam... Noah... Ah, what else... there's William..."</p><p>They noticed all of these names fit into the human category called 'male.' Stanford seemed to assume they were one.</p><p>Alright. It didn't really matter what 'sex' you were, did it? They could be a he.</p><p>"That one-- that one sounded nice."</p><p>
  <em> "William?" </em>
</p><p>"Yeah." He sunk a little in the air, feeling self-conscious.</p><p>Until Stanford smiled. "Yes. I think that name suits you." He touched the chain gently. "You have an interesting form. Is that what all of you look like?"</p><p>Will blinked. "I mean-- some of us? I'm still too young to hold a very advanced form."</p><p>He’d seen others that seemed similar to him, and others who, when they were ‘visible’ held much more complex forms, shapes and wheels with dozens of eyes. Fire, wings...</p><p>Stanford nodded like he understood. "And how old are you?"</p><p>"Almost three billion."</p><p>His eyebrows shot up. "Three billion?"</p><p>"Almost."</p><p>He shook his head slightly. "That's... fascinating. How old do your people live?"</p><p>"We just kind of... keep going on. Until we decide we're done."</p><p>"So, potentially forever?"</p><p>"I guess? As long as there are minds and dreamers."</p><p>"That is... <em> truly </em>something."</p><p>***</p><p>The two of them talked for a while. Mostly Stanford asking him things and Will doing his best to answer. Especially about his ‘magic.’ (It wasn’t really magic in the true sense, but Will had told him that was what it was earlier, because it fit into the human’s definition of magic across most cultures-- power, basically.)</p><p><em> William-- </em> it was just-- just <em> weird </em>, to have a name.</p><p>Not in a bad way, exactly. A name made him important.</p><p>Noteworthy.</p><p>But eventually Stanford glanced down at his watch and informed him (without his having to hassle to look it up) that it was very late in the time cycle thing they used, and that he needed to rest.</p><p>Which seemed to entail him lying down in a dark room for a long time doing nothing.</p><p>Before he went to do this, though, he informed Will that he would be making a ‘binding circle.’</p><p>“Like the one we used to summon you, sort of, but to keep you from leaving and… well, doing unsavory things.”</p><p>Apparently ‘demons’ went around doing things like murder and possesion and stuff.</p><p>Except he was NOT a demon, and he thought he’d explained this?</p><p>But Will let it go when he realized Stanford was radiating ‘fear.’ This wasn’t a malicious thing.</p><p>So he agreed to go into the circle. After all, they had made a Deal to be friends.</p><p>***</p><p>Stanford returned a few hours later.</p><p>(Will had not minded the waiting too much. He had had time to ‘Look Up’ things about the beings here and their universe, and sort of how things worked. And there were quite a LOT of things to Look Up.)</p><p>He let Will out of the circle, apologizing for it.</p><p>“It’s alright. You were just being careful. But I’m not a demon.”</p><p>He laughed. “You certainly aren’t an angel, though. Now, we made an agreement. Help in exchange for companionship?”</p><p>Will blinked happily at him. “Yes.”</p><p>“Well, we’ve been a bit short-staffed here. And I know it’s… an odd job for a being like you. Honestly, I was only hoping to ask you to help us with our performances-- we do magic shows and such, displays of the supernatural. Humanely, of course. But would you mind helping?”</p><p>“I guess not.” He’d never been in a place like this before. It might be interesting to see how things were actually carried out, and to be able to look around the place. Besides, it might help earn Stanford's trust-- and therefore eliminate the need for the binding circle.</p><p>“That’s wonderful. Very kind of you, now… we do have a few people in this house besides my family. And if you want to travel anywhere here --in this dimension-- without causing a fuss, you may need to change your appearance. Can you do so?”</p><p>“I can try? I don’t know how much it will take-- you want me to look like you, right?”</p><p>“Well, not me specifically. A human.”</p><p>Will tugged on the energy ‘cord’ that connected him to things and tried to focus on this. What were the main features of a human?</p><p>...It would be a lot easier if he had a specific blueprint. Maybe he could just pick some random human, from somewhere else, and copy them. Stanford wouldn’t know…</p><p>Will picked one at random and tried to change.</p><p>It was, to say the least, a disaster.</p><p>There were a lot of highly complicated pieces that went in specific places, energy to be converted into specific types of matter to make the proper kinds of human parts-- and an order he had to do this in because, apparently, you couldn’t start with the soft parts and add bones later. Things kept slipping and tearing and leaking. (In hindsight, he was very lucky he hadn’t tried to add the nervous system yet.)</p><p>It took Will a few moments to realize Stanford was screaming. </p><p>“HOLY MOTHER OF-- STOP! STOP THAT!”</p><p>He dispersed everything and pulled back into his usual form.</p><p>Stanford’s already pale-ish skin had gotten somehow whiter. There was a very thick aura of fear radiating off him, bittersweet.</p><p>“Are you alright?” Will asked.</p><p>“<em> That </em> was… very… ahem. I’ll be fine. Just a bit shocking to see.” Stanford pinched the bridge of his nose, deliberately slowing and deepening his breathing.</p><p>This seemed to be some kind of calming ritual. It made his heartbeat and stress levels decrease slightly.</p><p>Will waited for him to finish calming himself.</p><p>“My… grand niece and nephew. I mentioned the magic show, yes? They do have some magic amplifying tools. And my niece is an artist. How about we go visit them?”</p><p>Will ‘Looked’ them up. Mabel and Mason Gleeful, children of one of the children of one of Stanford’s siblings.</p><p>Mabel was the ‘niece,’ which was the girl version of ‘nephew.’ She drew and sculpted and designed things. Clothes also. Clothes that she wore during her performance. And things <em> for </em> the performance. Painted backgrounds and sets.</p><p>Mason drew a bit, but that seemed to be it in the creative direction of things for him.</p><p>Will blinked away from his Looking. There wasn’t enough time to learn all about them yet. Stanford was leading him away, waiting for him at the door. (Strangely enough, the dainty blue chain that connected them seemed to lengthen as distance between them grew. Not dragging him along or holding him in place.)</p><p>He joined Stanford, floating down the hall beside him.</p><p>It was quite ornate. Plush carpet and dark hardwood, glimpses of other rooms, art (some of it Mabel’s), photographs of people that looked similar to Stanford himself, strange old-looking ceramics and arrowheads and things on display. Shining blue stained glass in the outer halls, dripping with bright white sunlight.</p><p>Eventually they came to a hall that was decorated differently. All the art was signed at the bottom with <em> Mabel Gleeful, </em> the handwriting changing a bit the further down the hall they went, from neat cursive to wobbly print, and the occasional misspelling. <em> Mabal. Mable. Gl33ful. </em> As if she had just been learning to write when she made them. The artistry was simpler, messier, stick figures and charming scribbles.</p><p>There were none of Mason’s drawings. He seemed to like to keep his in books, and stuck to pencils and ink, instead of the paint and other materials his sister had taught herself to use.</p><p>The hall widened into a little room with its own fireplace, a bookshelf, and chairs. At the end were two doors. One had a small note on it, <em> Stay out, I’m studying </em>(a quick Look confirmed he was NOT).</p><p>The other had a large sparkly blue ‘M’ on it. Stanford chose that one, and knocked firmly.</p><p>“Mabel?”</p><p>The door unlocked and opened, and a young girl came out. She was almost half Stanford’s height, with long straight brown hair and blue-and-pink braces. “Great Uncle Ford?” She caught sight of Will, hovering near Stanford’s shoulder, and straightened a little. “Hello again, demon!”</p><p>“I’m not a--”</p><p>“It’s fine, Will,” Stanford said, raising a hand gently to shush him, and returning his attention to his grandniece. “I was wondering if you might do me a favor, my dear? It does involve both art and magic. And… you can have today off of schoolwork.”</p><p>Mabel’s eyes widened. Then narrowed. “Make it two.”</p><p>Stanford sighed, in an almost-fond kind of way. “Alright. You are excused for two days.”</p><p>“Yes! So, what's the favor?”</p><p>“Will and I,” he gestured toward Will, “need you to design him a human body. I have some specifications that I can add myself, with him, with my own spellwork. But I’m no artist, so,” he released Will’s chain, “have at him.”</p><p>***</p><p>Stanford stayed in Mabel’s room with him and Mabel the whole time, for which Will was grateful. She had a small sort of amulet that Stanford explained she used to amplify her spells for the stage. Her brother had a matching one.</p><p>Will could connect and channel his own ‘magic’ through it, despite his powers being of a different nature. But even though the amulet amplified his powers, it was still draining to feed it. At least that was the only thing he had to focus on, siphoning his power into the thing.</p><p>The young girl herself took care of the careful construction and designing of everything. She and Stanford took breaks occasionally, to eat food, which was how their species got energy (which was WEIRD.) But after a few hours, Mabel finished, looking exhausted. She had tied her hair back in a long ponytail partway through, and strands of hair were starting to frizz up and come away from their place. There was a light sheen of sweat on her skin.</p><p>Mabel dropped herself face-first into her bed. “Done.” her voice was muffled. After a moment, she rolled over to examine her handiwork again. The energy drain of magic seemed to have gotten to her as well. And she was a very young human… ten years old. Which was halfway toward adulthood, actually. Humans had incredibly tiny lifespans.</p><p>But she was still young even by their standards, and not fully developed yet. The fact that she had managed all this… she must be quite experienced, and quite strong.</p><p>“Wonderful job, dear,” Stanford said, sounding impressed. He came over and touched Will lightly, the part of him just below where his eyes were (because he had two of them now, and depth perception, which he hadn’t even known was a thing!) He was too tired to bother Looking up what that part of the body was called. “This is… extremely impressive.” He grinned. “You may be excused from school for the rest of the week.”</p><p>Stanford walked around Will, looking him up and down. “I have a few things to touch up-- not physical. Things to help you adapt better and more safely. But we can be done for tonight.”</p><p>Tonight? An entire day-cycle had passed?</p><p>
  <em> Already? </em>
</p><p>Stanford grabbed hold of the little chain again. “Alright William, let’s get you back to your circle. Rest up, if you need. Restore your magic. We can talk again in the morning.”</p><p>Will nodded (which was something he had noticed counted as ‘yes’) and followed him out.</p><p>Stanford stifled a laugh at him. “And we’ll have to teach you to walk, as well. You can’t float around everywhere in public.”</p><p>They returned to the binding circle, in the room which Stanford called his ‘study.’ Stanford rubbed out one of the lines on the floor to let Will into it, replacing it quickly afterward. He paused before he left, and put his hand on Will’s head and made a gentle, stroking motion. “Goodnight, William. You’ve done well today.”</p><p>Will couldn’t stifle a smile, and covered his face, feeling oddly warm.</p><p>He had done well. Stanford liked him.</p><p>They were friends.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>
  <span>Heyyy! i know it's been a bit, writer's block kicked my ass around and I had to scrap half the chapter and rewrite it. But it's finally here, hurrah!</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>  <span>I have a few things to show ya that i've been saving but first of all, @knightoftimehasfallendown</span></p><p> </p><p>  <span>this is fucking amazing i love it (and you! and everyone else who bookmarked!)</span></p><p> </p><p>  <span><br/><br/></span></p><p> </p><p>and heres a lil followup to dumbass cat eye bill lmao</p><p> </p><p>  </p><p> </p><p>love you all a centillion!</p><p> </p><p>  </p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0028"><h2>28. In Which Dipper has Zero Art Skills But We Love Him Anyway</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this was fun as hell to make XD</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> June 16, 2017 </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I guess it's about time to throw together the mess of notes I've been making. I should really get a scrap paper notebook or something-- I have no idea how Grunkle Ford kept his journals so neat and organized. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> But that's not the point. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The point is, Bill Cipher came back. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I'm not really sure why, or how. He mentioned the AXOLOTL once, which Grunkle Ford seems to know a little about. But all the Journals say it's like, one of the supreme powers of the multiverse, and generally impartial. Even if I were to somehow visit it, I wouldn't remember afterward. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I wonder if that extends to Bill-- the memory thing. Or if he just doesn't want to talk about it. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> But he's back. in a biological sort of body. Grunkle Ford has a bunch of notes on the details, but it seems like a human body, mostly. He did claim he wasn't human, though. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Grunkle Ford drew some of his blood yesterday. It was red. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> In his memories, based on Mentum, his blood (or the equivalent) was silver. Which kinda makes me wonder if he's mortal now, or at least closer to human biology than he was before. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Which wouldn't make as much sense. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> But okay so I'm writing this to accompany my Grunkle's journals, but I guess I have to assume if someone finds this, they might not know everything. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> So. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> When I first met Bill, summer of 2012, he looked like this. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em> But apparently there was a time before that when he didn't. A period of time in which he had a similar humanish body to the one he has now. He claims another version of my sister built it-- guess she's eternally the artist of the family. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I've seen her handiwork, and I believe it (that wax Stan was creepily accurate.) </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Bill's form is pretty tall-- taller than Grunkle Ford so maybe... 6 foot something? Definitely taller than the average guy. The one eye I can see seems to line up with Mabel's entry (journal three, I think?) on Bipper eyes. Bipper being Bill's mind and my body, when he possessed me as a kid. Basically, the whites of his eyes are more yellowish, and his pupils are kinda slitted. There also seems to be something weird going on with his teeth. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He bit me the other day, when he was trying to attack me. It didn't look like a normal human bite in a couple of ways. First of all, the canines punctured pretty deep. But there was a second row of indentations. Grunkle Ford would probably wanna check that out if he knew, but I think if he tried Bill would bite him, too. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (He also seems to have some scars. It was a little hard to see, because Grunkle Ford was doing that doctor things where they feel all over your stomach to check your organs. You know, I could probably just look that up-- okay so apparently its to check your organs are the correct size and in the correct place. Neat.) </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Anyways, I slathered Neosporin on my arm and it seems to be healing up fine. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Bill was deliberately designed. So these details must have served some purpose. And I don't know the half of what Grunkle Ford might have discovered so far. It's kind of fascinating. There's been talk, in the scientific community and the science fiction one, of genetic engineering in the future. Surgeries and cybernetics. Deliberately modifying human bodies to work better under certain environments, make them more efficient, or suit them to specific tasks. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Which is as terrifying as it is incredible. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I've seen a few different things through Mentum-- basically a machine my Grunkle and Dr. Fiddleford built to translate thoughts and memories into transcripts and videos. Mabel said she wanted to borrow it sometime, to see what her dreams look like as movies. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I'd really rather not know what mine look like. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Basically Bill seemed to do the following things </em>
</p><p>
  <em> 1) Work various jobs around the house </em>
</p><p>
  <em> 2) Perform various acts for some effed up version of the Tent of Telepathy </em>
</p><p>
  <em> 3) Scientific research </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I'm not 100% sure on the last one, whether it was to study the human body (or an equivalent), or if other-Grunkle Ford just didn't know what they'd ended up creating. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Anyways here's my best rendition of what he looks like now. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em> (Yeah, I think it's pretty clear who got all the art genes in the family.) </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Anyways he claims that the other-versions of us enslaved him somehow. So now he has an eternal vendetta against our souls or something. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Which isn't good! </em>
</p><p>
  <em> But at least he isn't an all-powerful demon god anymore. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He can still mentally travel and stuff, but he claims that stuff anyone with a soul can do? I guess I've heard crazier things. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Something weird has been going on the past few nights, though. And Bill's been acting a little different around me lately. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He stopped my nightmare, for one. It's always the same one-- about him, and that summer. But he stopped it. Multiple times. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Didn't wanna explain why. Said he 'didn't like it,' me dreaming about him. Couldn't pry anything else out of him, but maybe I can bribe him some more... </em>
</p><p>
  <em> But Bill and I-- we're not on friendly terms, not by a long shot. But we do seem to be on not-arch-enemies terms? So that's good I guess. </em>
</p><p>***</p><p>"Hey, Dip-Dop?"</p><p>Dipper looked up from his notebook, sliding a pen into his spot and closing it. He was sitting cross-legged on the swivel chair the Grunkles had gotten him for his office. And yes, he <em> knew </em> that wasn't the way you were <em> supposed </em> to sit in swivel chairs. but it was comfortable.</p><p>"Yeah?"</p><p>Mabel came over to sit on his desk, which was empty except for a red Solo cup he was using as a temporary pencil tin.</p><p>"We haven't really talked about... him. Yet."</p><p>Oh, yeah. They'd been overdue for this conversation for a long time.</p><p>The two of them tackled problems as a team, after all. Their survival had once depended on it.</p><p>"What do you think?" he asked.</p><p><em> "We-ell... </em> I did say I'd make an effort to try again, if he did too. Right? After all, he's living in the Shack now, possibly forever, or until..."</p><p>"Closure?" Dipper tried.</p><p>"Yeah. Closure." she paused. "Do you think its worth it to try? Should we even try?"</p><p>He played with the edges of his notebook, the layers of worn, well-thumbed paper. "I'm not sure. I mean, from a karma standpoint-- does he deserve this? Probably."</p><p>"But?" Mabel prompted.</p><p>"But it just feels wrong to have an actual, living person just locked in the basement, y'know? No matter what they did. I mean, he's in there, right now. Right across from us. And we can just leave him there with no consequences. And I want to. And I hate him for what he did..."</p><p>"But we're going to be the bigger people," Mabel finished for him, echoing his words from earlier.</p><p>"Yeah. Or at least, we're going to try."</p><p>They both fell silent. Dipper turned for a moment to look out the half-open office door and down the basement hall to the shoddily half-repaired lab walls. Bill was in there. A person was in there. Scared.</p><p>"Do you think he can get better?" Dipper asked, out of the blue. He winced. Maayyyybe shouldn't have said that, at least not so bluntly.</p><p>"There's only one way to find out."</p><p>"To try?"</p><p>"To try."</p><p>Dipper brushed his fingers across the cover of his notebook again, thinking.</p><p>"Even if, somehow, he does..." Mabel began. "I don't think I could forgive him." There was a tinge of regret to her voice, buried underneath the steel.</p><p>"I don't think we <em> should </em> forgive him."</p><p>That was unforgivable. All of it. Killing and lying and hurting and harming. No matter your motivation.</p><p>Irredeemable.</p><p>There was no going back on it.</p><p>There was only going forward.</p><p>"You've spoken with him a bit. Anything come up that we could try with?"</p><p>Dipper huffed a laugh. "Well. He likes Disco Girl."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>anyways as i was doing my scheduled halfway-through-chapter-procrastination-session i decided to make picrews of our lovely boi :)</p><p> </p><p>  <span><br/><br/></span></p><p> </p><p>  <span></span><br/><br/></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0029"><h2>29. oops! all picrews</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i have nothing to say for myself</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0030"><h2>30. A Few Damn Good Questions</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>am much exhaustion</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>After a measly few minutes to an hour, Bill was bothered yet again by both idiot twins. The younger ones, that is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Apparently 'Star had thought it would be a fun bonding activity to make Pine Tree play music again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And she tried to make Bill sing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was thoroughly unimpressed by her efforts, and did not.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>'Star was a stubborn one, though, and kept pushing it it, and he was almost going to give in so she didn't snap and get mad, but thankfully he was saved by Pine Tree.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whoa whoa whoa, what was that last sentence?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thankfully he was saved by Pine Tree?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yeah, no, those words DID NOT belong in the same sentence. He WAS NOT thankful for anything Pine Tree did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>NOPE.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Pine Tree did remove himself and his sister from Sixer's Magic Prison Cell for Misbehaving Cryptids. Which allowed him to return to his favorite pastime down here of brooding darkly in the corner.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which was then interrupted by Sixer for dinnertime.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill gave him his arm when he held his hand out for it and went upstairs without bothering to fight with himself over it. Wasn't worth his time or energy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Neither was Shooting Star and Question Mark's attempts at stupid small talk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So dinner was the same uncomfortable affair as always. He was allowed another sandwich, though, instead of toast.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Was this counted as some kind of 'reward' for good behavior? Figured.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At least Bill had the rest of the night to look forward to being left alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He lined his water bottles up against the wall, the full ones separate from the empty ones. (He was going to have to start considering using one of them as a makeshift toilet, if things continued to go the way they were.) Then he gathered up all three of his blankets (which took an annoyingly long time to locate, in the dark) and piled them together in the leftmost corner, which was where he usually slept. Maybe he should start switching it up-- not that half a second of time would save his stupid skin if Sixer or Shadow decided enough was enough and it was time to kill him..</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill made a small nest space for himself in the middle of the blankets and climbed into it, only leaving his head exposed, turned toward the door so he could keep an eye on it as he fell asleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It didn't take long for the blankets to absorb his body heat, and soon enough he was warm and drowsy enough to sleep if he wanted to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wished for the undecillionth time that he didn't need to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He'd hoped, when he first got here, that he could at least reach the Akashanic Records when he rested-- he'd tried to right then and there on Pine Tree's office floor, because if there was a way out of this place anywhere he would find it there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a shoddy replacement for an All-Seeing Eye-- except he was barred even from that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>GODS, he hated the AXOLOTL. They were probably having the time of their life watching him down here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill freed one hand from his blanket nest and flipped off the ceiling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually he did let himself sleep. He had to keep this body in good condition, after all, if he wanted to survive. It wasn't a vessel he could leave without dying. Which sucked, because otherwise he'd be long gone from this stupid excuse for a tourist trap.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill slipped from the sharp awareness of the physical world, through the in-between-space, and 'woke' again in his Mindscape. He took a moment to enjoy the familiarity of the triangular mental form he'd built himself. It was different from the one he'd had originally, but not altogether dissimilar.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thought it looked fun. Slightly menacing, disarmingly comical, easy to maintain, and looked nice in bow-ties.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Were were the cons?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Answer: there were none! (Well, except that it wasn't physical, not anymore. But still.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He guessed he was going to visit Pine Tree. What else was he gonna do? Get caught in Sixer's head? And a big NO on Shadow's, ever, ever again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shooting Star might not recognize his presence, but she was sharp and smart, and if he touched the wrong thing, or her dream was slightly off... At least Pine Tree didn't seem to mind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which actually made no sense, because Pine Tree definitely hated him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Except he also DID NOT want a repeat of... whatever that was that had happened last night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could go and then leave. Send Pine Tree into deep sleep and then leave so he didn't go through with his threat and come into Bill's room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or he could just stay here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...But he already knew he was going to go. So he went ahead and did it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The nightmare was already starting up again, even though Bill could tell Pine Tree had barely been asleep for fifteen minutes. Bill went to squash the nightmare... then stopped. He thought for a moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he paused it, leaving Pine Tree in stasis for a moment as he worked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He removed the faceless townspeople on the fringes of the dream ringing dream-Bill's form. Then he did away with dream-Bill's construct altogether, placing Pine Tree's dream-sister 'healed' in front of the shack door, which he was frozen in front of, having been in the endless-hallway-running part of the dream.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill wished himself invisible to Pine Tree and started the dream again, swinging the door open for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The dream buckled a little at the new narrative thrust into its well-worked folds, and Pine Tree hesitated. He would have tripped had gravity not been a thing here. Then he began to run again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Since 'Tree's stupid head was still trying to fuck with him, Bill wished his cane into being and gave dream-Star's construct a shove in the right direction with it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as the twins touched, Pine Tree reaching out and taking hold of his sister's hand, the manic energy of the dream drained out of the twisted, mold-ridden walls of the dream-Shack.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There. Pine Tree had his damn happy ending.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(WHYHADHEDONETHAT?)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(YESYEPABSOLUTELYTIMETOLEAVE)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill slipped back into his own Mindscape and shut himself down for a little while. Just a little unconsciousness, yes please! Now was not a good time for thinking about any and all things that may have just transpired.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unfortunately, this turned out to be a terrible decision. Because!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Guess who showed up to his room unspeakably early in the morning with his annoying questions?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pine-fuckin'-Tree.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ugh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d wasted perfectly good planning time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pine Tree let himself in, of course (keeping the door cracked, thank CHAOS.) At least he waited for Bill to extricate himself from the blanket trap he had ended up in-- traitorous things had apparently conspired to embarrass him this morning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he did finally get himself out and upright (still sitting on the blankets because cold) Pine Tree was biting back a grin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yeah, laugh it up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill leaned his head back against the wall and prepared for the onslaught.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Bill?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh boy, here it came. "Yeah?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What were you doing last night?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sleeping."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And your consciousness?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Also sleeping. I turned it off for a bit."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pine Tree paused. "I did notice you didn't come talk to me."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stellar observation! Wanna prize? "And what of it?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well. I still had that dream last night." He struggled with his words again. "...It was a bit different than usual. You sure you had nothing to do with that?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill grinned. "Ever heard of lucid dreaming?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I was definitely not--"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You've been staying 'conscious' in your sleep more often. So your waking brain's gonna have more say in what you dream. Giving you what you want, grabbing you out of tight spots, that kinda thing."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So you absolutely weren't in my head last night?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Nope..." he laughed, "why, didja miss me?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pine Tree waved a hand lightly, "Nah, it was a welcome relief."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Anyways," he continued, "I was wondering--"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Of course you were."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"--Why you didn't come bother me."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aw, you really did miss me!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bill!” Pine Tree said, sounding a bit exasperated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What?" He had a feeling he knew what, and he didn't want the conversation to go there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm trying to-- to be-- I dunno, understanding or something?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I--" Pine Tree stopped. "You know what, that's a damn good question."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unlike yours, HAHA.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well. That might be a little unfair. It wasn't his fault he was stupid.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look, I know what it feels like when you’re in my head. And you were there. No use denying it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe it’s ‘cause you dream about me,” Bill said. (FUCK, he hadn’t considered that. Even after Pine Tree had recognized him in there before-- </span>
  <em>
    <span>STUPID--</span>
  </em>
  <span>)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You and I both know you weren’t in my dream last night. And you told me, for one reason or another, you didn’t like me dreaming about you. So.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How do you know what you felt was ‘me?’ It could be your own consciousness,” Bill pointed out. He knew better than to make ‘even if it was’ arguments-- that would read as admitting to it.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Bill--”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Think what you want, Pine Tree.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shook his head. “Look… fine. But why didn’t you come talk to me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Didja want me to?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Answer the question.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Why does it matter?” He resisted the urge to ball up the blanket in his fists.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Stay. Calm.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because I was wondering if that was because of… what happened the night before.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>YEP YEP NOPE THEY WERE </span>
  <em>
    <span>NOT</span>
  </em>
  <span> TALKING ABOUT THAT.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He needed something else, a distraction-- </span>
  <em>
    <span>ah.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pine Tree…” Bill began slowly, a bit darkly, as if this had been pressing on his mind this whole conversation --and it </span>
  <em>
    <span>SHOULD</span>
  </em>
  <span>  have been, really, UGH, </span>
  <em>
    <span>STUPID--</span>
  </em>
  <span> “...are your grunkles going to kill me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That's--"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill watched him struggle for a moment, pleased. Pine Tree was bouncing between 'that's NOT what this is about,' and, 'that IS a legitimate concern.'</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he settled on.... </span>
  <em>
    <span>drumroll, please... </span>
  </em>
  <span>"Ask Grunkle Ford when he comes down."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Really. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Really?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That's</span>
  </em>
  <span> the best he could do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Are you trying to distract me from something?" Pine Tree asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>HAHA NO, </span>
  <em>
    <span>WHY EVER WOULD YOU THINK THAT???</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He blinked at Pine Tree, as if surprised. "From... what?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"From our conversation. About the last time you visited."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Whaddaya wanna know about it?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Is that the reason you didn't visit? Were you uncomfortable, or scared?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>DON'T growl DON'T yell DON'T panic DON'T FIGHT.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Look, Pine Tree," Bill tried, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>OH,</span>
  </em>
  <span> was this conversation getting old </span>
  <em>
    <span>FAST,</span>
  </em>
  <span> "you're not my therapist--"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Answer the question," Pine Tree said firmly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Bill. I just want t--"</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"NO!"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Pine Tree's hand went automatically to his baton, and Bill shot upright.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>F̶̞̉Ů̷͇C̷̨̐K̴͝ͅF̶͉͊U̶̹͐C̷̬̒K̷̨͌F̵̦̍Ü̴̢C̴͜Ḱ̶͉F̸̡͐U̵̦͐C̶͚̉K̶͇̎-̷̻͌-̵̟͌</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <span>Pine Tree unclipped the baton and brought it out between him and Bill. He didn't turn on the power just yet, and the baton remained silent, no menacing buzzing. "Remember the agreement."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill glanced at the door. He'd </span>
  <em>
    <span>much</span>
  </em>
  <span> rather take his chances running than dealing with Pine Tree, but the idiot didn't seem to realize that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He made himself sit back down on the blankets, even while Pine Tree stood only a few feet away, brandishing a weapon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill folded his legs underneath him --not in a quick getting-up and fighting or running position-- and folded his hands in his lap.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Still gonna go for it, Pine Tree?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a long pause, as they both waited. Bill held as still as he could. He would give Pine Tree no opportunities or excuse to strike.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But after a moment, the baton was lowered and reclipped again-- a lot slower than it had been brought out, but still.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill willed him to leave, close the door and </span>
  <em>
    <span>leave him in peace.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm only trying to... help."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Please don't." The tension had eased ever so slightly, and Bill felt he was safely able to grab up one of his blankets again, to squeeze his frustration into, discreetly, with his fists.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm-- I'll be back later. At breakfast time." He rolled up his sweatshirt sleeve to reveal a little silver watch. There was a faded and scratched smiley face sticker, still doggedly attached to the watch face even after dedicated attempts to remove it. Pine Tree squinted at it. "It's... five-thirty, I think. So, in two hours. Is that okay?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Leave."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door shut.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shoved his face into the blanket.</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0031"><h2>31. Mabel-Cakes and Small Mistakes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>yep im still updatin'<br/>hope you like this one i made it nice and long and full of billo shenanigans<br/>(and i have NOT forgotten the suggestion i accepted for a flashback, but its gonna be a while before it Fits™ in the story. just wanted to say it hasn't been forgotten!)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>True to his word, Dipper went back downstairs a few hours later --this time with Grunkle Ford, who insisted on supervising if the (ex?)demon was going to be let out-- to get Bill for breakfast.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill seemed to have passed out again, curled up in a mess of blankets-- on top of them instead of tangled up hopelessly. His head was pillowed on crossed arms, blond hair all over the place. He looked in desperate need of a haircut.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Cipher!" Ford called out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill stirred, then shot upright. "Wha..." he narrowed his eye.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Breakfast," Dipper reminded him. He watched Bill get himself upright (he still seemed unstable on his new legs when he was tired) and come to the doorway. He consciously forced his hand not to move to his baton. Bill's movements </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> seemed a bit threatening earlier that morning, but he had observed the 'no fighting' agreement... although he'd broken the 'truthful answers' one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wondered if he should push that question again later. He wanted to. He wasn't by any means satisfied with Bill's 'answers.' Although he seemed to have hit a nerve, what with Bill standing up and yelling and actually acting like the Bill Cipher Dipper knew.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which meant he didn't want Dipper to know something.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So whatever he did or didn't end up getting out of Bill later, Dipper was pretty sure he had the answer to his question. The first one at least, the </span>
  <em>
    <span>had he been there? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Unfortunately, not the </span>
  <em>
    <span>why?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Not yet, at least.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he was pretty sure, if he found something of value to offer Bill, he could get a reasonably working answer. Maybe more blankets? Or he could buy him an inflatable mattress or sleeping bag when he went out to get one for himself. Or a light source, maybe. He'd kind of implied he hated the dark.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>First, though-- eating.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He himself had already had breakfast-- which for him constituted as coffee and a granola bar. He assumed Grunkle Ford had had something similar --not enough--  but--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Damn, he was being a hypocrite, wasn't he?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mabel was upstairs, making pancakes with some of the mix she had bought, an entire container of rainbow sprinkles (if the empty container by the bowl was anything to go by,) and a good bit of red food dye, to color them pink. She'd gone out shopping after their discussion yesterday. If they were going to be in Soos' house so much, and using his things --no matter how much he insisted it was 'cool, dudes'-- they should at least try to help restock.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey Grunkle Ford, hey bro-bro! And Bill." She glanced up from the stove, waving a batter-streaked spatula at them. "Who wants Mabel-cakes? I haven't finished cooking them all yet, but like six of them are done." She flicked the spatula at a plate full of bright pink pancakes. A few drops of batter went flying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Are they edible?" Dipper asked, only partly joking.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Of course</span>
  </em>
  <span> they are, you tease!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wondered if he should indulge. Mabel's cooking had been improving a lot recently-- she'd started cooking with Soos in the evenings, recently. He had a collection of his Abuelita's best recipes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Speaking of Soos, Dipper hadn't seen him around a lot, except at dinner and sometimes lunch. He had more tours than Stan ever did, because he offered ones in Spanish too now-- but at least he still came around, when he could. Chatted with whoever was upstairs, showed Grunkle Stan one of his animes... Dipper honestly felt bad he hadn't spoken to the guy much. Though they'd caught up a little, earlier.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then again, what with Grunkle Ford's schedule and Dipper being his apprentice, he was bound to be busy, even without Bill to take care of.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Speaking </span>
  </em>
  <span>of the devil (hah) breakfast needed to be fixed for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'll pass," Grunkle Ford told Mabel. He brought his mug to the sink and rinsed it out. It was one of the ones Mabel and Dipper had made for him, a few Christmases ago. Well, Mabel had done most of the making. Dipper had supplied suggestions and, of course, the terribly cheesy chemistry pun. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Up and atom!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>This was the first summer the Grunkles had officially moved out of the Shack, but most of their stuff couldn’t fit on the boat. Hopefully they were going to buy their own property, soon.</span>
</p><p><span>"Aww, </span><em><span>Grunkle</span></em> <em><span>Ford.</span></em><span> You never eat anything I make!"</span></p><p>
  <span>"He doesn't eat breakfast in general, I think," Dipper said. He got out two paper plates and took four pancakes off the stack-- two for Bill and two for himself. It was the least he could do, since Mabel seemed so proud of her new recipe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He held out one of the plates to Bill and went to get the syrup out of the cabinet --though he seriously doubted any recipe Mabel made up would be lacking in toxic amounts of sugar-- and set it out on the table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill waited for him to sit down first before sitting himself. On the opposite side of the table from Ford. Of course.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, Dipper couldn't blame him. He, too, was familiar with the joys of PTSD. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Because</span>
  </em>
  <span> of him, actually.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which really made it hard to sympathize with Bill at all-- but oh well. He wasn't </span>
  <em>
    <span>excusing</span>
  </em>
  <span> anything Bill did, but it did play a part in his eventual spiral into the depths of depravity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill himself was staring silently down at his flamboyantly pink pancakes with a narrowed eye. It occurred to Dipper suddenly that Bill probably knew, or had known at some point, the closely-guarded recipe for Mabeljuice. He'd always wondered what horrors it contained…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill tried his pancake. He made a face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Mabel pounced. "Ooh, hey-hey, what do you think? Is it good? It isn't burnt, is it?" She twirled the spatula in her hands. "I... kinda worked really hard on them? So, what do you think? Be honest."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Uh," Bill stared up at her from his seat-- she'd rushed right over. (This, in part, was why Dipper had waited for someone else to try the food first. Also: totally loaded question.) "'S good."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Honestly?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes'm.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn't move from where he was, but it was clear that he didn't want to be there. He was gripping the side of the table hard enough for his knuckles to go white (Dipper hadn't really thought the guy could get </span>
  <em>
    <span>any paler,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but there ya go.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're not saying that just because?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dipper frowned, glancing over at the stove. It was still on, there was batter in the pan, on the burner. She was cooking. Shouldn't she be checking on that?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Nope."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To punctuate that, Bill took another bite of pancake. Which really was a smart move, because Mabel wouldn't expect him to answer her with his mouth full.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Really?" Mabel lit up, "Uwu! Nice."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To Dipper's relief, she returned to the stove. He did notice her discard three blackened pancakes soon after.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh well, at least nothing actually caught fire.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While she was distracted, he tried one of his own pancakes. It tasted like he'd expected-- sugar and food coloring. Yech. For lack of a better option, he stuck the pancakes in his hoodie pockets, and gave Bill a pointed look. "If she asks, I ate them."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill snorted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He did keep his own pancakes, and devoured them both in his messy way. It was unclear to Dipper whether he liked them or not-- but the copious amounts of sugar were probably a plus in Bill's book, anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Wow, you guys were really hungry. Well, I've got plenty of Mabel-cakes for you!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh </span>
  <em>
    <span>no.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She brought over the stack of pancakes and </span>
  <em>
    <span>thawp</span>
  </em>
  <span>-ed two more down on each of their plates. "There you go! Well, I've got a little batter left to finish with, but you'd better leave some for me when you're done." And she twirled back over to the stove.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dipper sighed. His pockets were going to be stuffed with pancakes by the time Mabel let them go. He picked up one of the pink monstrosities to put it away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Wait."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dipper looked up at Bill. "You... </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> this?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He held out his hand. "Food's food. Give it." A pause. "...</span>
  <em>
    <span>Please?"</span>
  </em>
  <span> he added, a bit dryly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite the messy blond hair all over the place, Dipper could see Bill half-roll his eye as he said this. He was leaning over the table, almost far enough to snatch Dipper's pancakes. Dipper cast a quick glance at Mabel (she was distracted, singing some pop song to herself) and handed them to Bill.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He withdrew immediately to his spot (with enough force to nearly knock his chair back) to smash Dipper pancakes onto his own stack. He picked up all four at once and took a bite out of them like they were a sandwich... and grimaced.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wow. Even demons didn't like the heinous and pervasive flavor of Pure Fucking Food Coloring.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dipper couldn't blame them, honestly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It might help if you put syrup on it," he suggested, unwilling to let a fellow soul suffer at the hands of Mabel's adventures beyond cookbooks. He nudged the syrup bottle towards Bill, who grabbed it, popped the top off, and upended it on top of his food (which, thankfully, he had put back onto the plate.) He squeezed it as hard as he could.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Uh, that's--" </span>
  <em>
    <span>a fuckin' LOT.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Aaaaaand he didn't look like he was going to stop anytime soon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Are you seriously trying to drown your pancakes in that?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Pancakes can't DROWN. They're not ALIVE. Also, how's that worse than eating them, if they were?" Bill didn't release the syrup even as he said this. He was already past the halfway mark and was in serious danger of overflowing his plate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Seriously, stop, we just bought that."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You said this stuff's supposed to fix it. It's gonna take a HELLUVA LOT to fix </span>
  <em>
    <span>these."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're going to get syrup all over the table," Dipper pointed out, "Grunkle Ford's not gonna like that."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill's eye flicked up to glare at him. "Really? Playing </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>card?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey, whatever works."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After squeezing the bottle one last time, like he was trying to make a point, Bill finally put the thing down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And picked up the syrup-drenched pancake stack with his bare hands and took a bite out of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jesus Christ.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was dripping everywhere. On Bill. On his clothes. On the table. On the floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Grunkle Ford finally took notice of the situation. An event which was closely foreshadowed by the ceasing of the coffeemaker’s cries to be put out of its misery.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"BILL."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill froze mid-chew at the sound of Ford behind him. Then narrowed his eye, tore off another bite of Mabel-cake, and swung around to face him... continuing to drip syrup.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"No</span>
  </em>
  <span>, sto-- put the pancakes down."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill set them back onto the syrup-puddle plate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Now just-- you-- </span>
  <em>
    <span>dammit,"</span>
  </em>
  <span> Ford grumbled under his breath, massaging his forehead as if he was getting a headache.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which, to be fair, he probably was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'll get the paper towels," Dipper said, getting up. He took Ford's fresh mug from him before he dropped it, or swung around forgetting he had it --it had started to go limp in his hand-- and smacked it down on the counter on his way to get the towels.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mabel reached up to touch something in her ear when she saw him, removing an earbud. "Oh hey, did you want more?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Actually there's a bit of a situation right now," Dipper paused to snatch up the roll, "maybe later," he added, to be nice-- although his patience was starting to run as thin as Grunkle Ford's. He tore off a couple sections at once and dumped them in Bill's lap. He tore off several more for himself and went to work getting the brunt of the stuff off the table without spilling more onto the floor (which, thank the GODS was wood and not carpet.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh </span>
  <em>
    <span>Aoshima</span>
  </em>
  <span>--" Mabel said in disbelief, </span>
  <em>
    <span>"Bill."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Dipper glanced up. She seemed caught between exasperation and laughter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill himself looked the epitome of pissed off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What had he </span>
  <em>
    <span>thought</span>
  </em>
  <span> was going to happen? It was </span>
  <em>
    <span>syrup.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It was </span>
  <em>
    <span>sticky. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It made a </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking mess.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Someone thundered heavily down the stairs. "What's this commotion about-- oh for heck's sake."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dipper sighed. They still tried not to cuss much around him and his sister, but in his opinion, some situations deserved to be cussed at.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Alllllright, guess we've gotta get you cleaned up before you make a bigger mess than you already have." Grunkle Stan tossed Bill's plate out and wiped the sticky off on his boxers. "Come on and get up."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before Stan had come downstairs, Bill had sort of been trying to clean himself off with the paper towels Dipper had given him, so hopefully that meant he wouldn't be trailing syrup all the way to... wherever Stan was taking him. Probably the bathroom. Bill tossed the drenched towels onto the table, getting to his feet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'll take care of this, Stanley."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"He's not... well not </span>
  <em>
    <span>completely </span>
  </em>
  <span>your responsibility. And you need to eat something."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mabel opened her mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"--Something substantial."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Do you even know how t--"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I killed 'em, so yeah, I'm pretty sure I can handle him."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That was more my doing than yours--"</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh boy. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Dipper wondered if he should try and speak up, or if that would worsen things.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Look. You're dressed for the day and I'm not, this is gonna be a bit messy. And it's not like I'm letting him go around the house unsupervised, 'kay? You need a break."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Stanley..." Ford began, again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Stan waved him off. "We'll be back in fifteen and you can have the demon all to yourself again."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ford pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "At least hold onto him so he doesn't run off."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Eh, sure." He dropped a hand on Bill's shoulder. "Let's go," he told him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shadow took him down into the elevator again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which was honestly almost worse than being alone in that small, dusty space with Sixer because at least he knew what to expect of </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At least Shadow stopped touching him once the doors shut.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had taken him a long time to choose a nickname for Shadow-- a lot of different reincarnations. It wasn't like his Zodiac symbol was an object, something glaringly obvious like Pine Tree's, or Sixer's-- although he'd developed quite a few savory and extremely unsavory nicknames for him by this point. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was from some organization-- the name of it changed a bit from time to time, some Royal Order of Summat. Sorta fish-shaped, but really?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fish?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It would be amusing to call him that. Hah. Fish.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But for most intents and purposes, at least at first, Bill had chosen Shadow. Not because it was a badass kinda name, in an edgy way. But because that was what he was. In Sixer's mind at least. In this dimension they had started off on even footing, but Sixer was the prized twin, the one that was gonna do Great Things. And his twin was a shadow in his dreams too, following from a distance, blurred out, forcibly ignored sometimes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They always started off at least semi-friendly, whether they were twins, or just brothers and sisters, cousins or childhood friends (or nemesis.) And one of them always came out on top-- more often than not Sixer, because he always started out a bit crafty. Shadow usually had his craftiness beaten into him at some point along the line.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Bill had had the dubious pleasure of actually meeting this version of him, here, he'd caught his symbol on his stupid little fez hat and called him that instead because 'Shadow' was meant to be a bit patronizing, and he didn't want it to come off as otherwise. So he didn't use it much.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But that was the name his mind usually went to, when referring to this idiot slab of meat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The elevator doors slid open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Alright, bathroom. I'm assuming my brother taught you how to wash up?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill nodded. Soap. Water. Time-consuming scrubbing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stan entered the bathroom first, holding up a hand. "Wait."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He came out again a moment later, holding a few sharp-ish objects which Bill hadn't recalled seeing lying around. Which meant they were in one of the drawer things, which he really should had gone though when he'd had the chance--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"There's a towel in there for you. Get cleaned up, I'll wait outside."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill went into the bathroom, shut the door firmly, and pushed the little button on the knob that seemed to lock it. He jiggled the handle a few times to be extra-sure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm not gonna walk in on you naked. Or let anyone else in."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ah yes, trust the con-man.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill considered messing with the door a little bit more, just to be contrary, but he knew he couldn't jeopardize things any more than he already did on impulse... like mouthing off at Sixer yesterday.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wrestled the sweater off his head. Some of the syrup had soaked through it, but most if it was on the front. He balled it up and tossed it in the corner. If it got sticky on the floor than too fucking bad for them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pants were a little less affected, but he took them off too, and the weird secret pants that humans wore under their regular pants.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The main difference between now and the last two times Sixer had made him take a bath was that Sixer had started the water for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it wasn't like that was a difficult thing to do. You just twisted the knob thing around.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill tossed his pants on the sweater, along with his eyepatch, and leaned over the bathtub. He gripped the knob and turned it all the way. Water shot out of the faucet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, that was that, right? Now he just had to wait for it to fill the tub.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the meantime, although Fish Man had probably taken anything useful, he could peruse through the drawers and stuff, see if there was anything worth nabbing. If he could get things past Shadow, he could hide them under his blankets.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There wasn't much of use at first. A bag full of fluffy-ish white balls.  Some half-used sponges strewn around (explained why it smelled so musty.) And some cleaning supplies. Sprays and wipes and shit. Apparently </span>
  <em>
    <span>Clorix</span>
  </em>
  <span> was called </span>
  <em>
    <span>Clorox</span>
  </em>
  <span> here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Probably couldn't kill anyone, but large enough doses should be able to do some damage. Those kinds of things had warning labels </span>
  <em>
    <span>ALLLLL </span>
  </em>
  <span>over them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it wasn't like he could get upstairs and put it in their food while they were cooking it. Although, maybe he could wheedle Pine Tree into letting him upstairs a little more... although it wasn't like he could smuggle Drano up there with him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill stood up, and tried the mirror next. He wasn't quite sure if..</span>
</p><p>
  <span>AHAHA! It did!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a 'secret' little shelf back here. And Bill was fairly certain Shadow hadn't gotten into it because it had a bunch of meds and pill-bottles in them. There were stickers on the sides of most of them, printed </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stanford F. Pines,</span>
  </em>
  <span> along with the name of the thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now </span>
  <em>
    <span>these</span>
  </em>
  <span> would be much easier to smuggle, a few pills from here and there in his pants pockets, or under one of the blankets.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Same thing with the cleaners, it would take a lot-- but if he took a few at a time, each time he was made to come in here… a frequency which he could bring up if he was willing to deal with getting his flesh puppet body all itchy and gross when it didn’t have to be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it was a solid addition to his plan-- once he managed to get their trust, as best he could, he had more options! Try to run, yeah, or kill 'em all!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wasn't like doing it with plain old-fashioned force was much of an option anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which meant he really should be thinking of more options. Sixer had guns, yeah, but even if, by some miracle he had a clear shot and all the time he needed, it wasn't like he knew how to operate one of those things.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Poison.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ay, you tryna flood the bathroom or somethin'?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill paused, grabbing onto the mirror so it didn't swing closed. "What?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why's the water still runnin'?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He glanced at the tub.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>None of it had filled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because there was a stupid drain hole thing in the bottom of it that he'd neglected to close.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>UGH.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill eased the mirror/door closed as slowly as he had the patience to do-- luckily there was no harsh snapping noise, nothing that could be heard over the roaring of the water.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Am I gonna hafta break the door down? You aren't seriously tryna flood the bathroom, right?" Shadow was nearly shouting to be heard through the door and over the faucet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"NO," Bill shouted back at him. "I FORGOT TO STOP THE DRAIN."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"HAH!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh Ax, was Tunafish seriously </span>
  <em>
    <span>laughing</span>
  </em>
  <span> at him? Bill scowled. WELL. He was just an asshole then, and he could laugh ALL HE WANTED. Bill Cipher was going to come out on top eventually, and when he did, </span>
  <em>
    <span>OH</span>
  </em>
  <span> would there be consequences!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For now, though, Bill Cipher was standing stupidly in the bathroom in a syrup-covered meat suit that needed cleaning. He frowned at the drain for a moment. Did he just... push on it? Or turn it like the faucet? Oh well, no way to know but to try.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"FUCK!"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hell, what is it now?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"NOTHING."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just that the water was hot enough to probably BURN HIS SKIN OFF.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He massaged his hand and turned the faucet knob almost all the way back to the side. He had to keep sticking his hand in the water to see if it was cool enough yet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now? --</span>
  <em>
    <span>NO.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Now? --</span>
  <em>
    <span>NO</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now? --</span>
  <em>
    <span>NO</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>RRRGHHHHH.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill shoved the drain thing and it </span>
  <em>
    <span>thunk</span>
  </em>
  <span>-ed shut. </span>
  <em>
    <span>FINALLY.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>And now it was time for MORE WAITING!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He went back to the mirror cabinet to look through what was there. The ones with the smallest doses might be the strongest-- or just not as needed for whichever one of the older twins this was for. Either the actual Stanford Filbrick Pines or brother who'd lived under his name for decades. Maybe both, who knew? Then again, this was Sixer's bathroom and stuff, he seemed to live in the basement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill chose a bottle at random to open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Except he couldn't. Open it, that was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn't hard-and-fast and immovable like a water bottle cap. It just spun around and around loosely when he twisted it and never came off, even when he pulled on it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You better've fixed the drain."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I DID." He really really really did NOT need Shadow marching in on him like this, clutching a pill bottle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill struggled with the bottle a while longer, even trying his stupid teeth, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>NOTHING WORKED.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>AND. To add INSULT to INJURY the lid said </span>
  <em>
    <span>CHILD LOCK</span>
  </em>
  <span> on it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill was NOT a CHILD!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He barely restrained himself from just banging it on the counter in hopes it would pop open because that slab of tilapia was standing RIGHT OUTSIDE.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He did shove it back into its place a bit more roughly than was strictly necessary, though.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And it was a good thing he did it when he did because the bathtub was now actually threatening to overflow. Bill yanked on the faucet handle. Aaaaaand now it was awkwardly quiet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill stepped into the water (which was </span>
  <em>
    <span>cold</span>
  </em>
  <span> this time.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He attempted to wash himself again, although he had to stop and scour the bottles on the edge of the tub to see which one of them had been arbitrarily assigned to wash hair and which for the rest of a human.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Occasionally, Shadow would ask if he was finished.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>NO he obviously wasn't, because there were these obnoxious splashing sounds which meant he was STILL IN THE WATER thank you very much, and SHUT UP. It wasn't like he WANTED to be covered in freezing water and bubbles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But eventually he was done, and thankfully there was a towel so he could get the cold wet off of him finally.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He dried himself the best he could (even though his hair remained nearly soaked, and still slightly sticky,) fixed the eyepatch back on securely, and wrapped the towel around his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You good and dry?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Covered up?"</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Yes."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"Aight, open the door."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill double-checked the towel in the mirror (avoiding looking at his stupid, wrong humanish face) and opened it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shadow appraised him for a moment. "Gettin' a bit scruffy aintcha? Oh well, let's get you dressed and upstairs for some real food. I don't think either of us want a razor in the mix anytime soon."</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>he still cant open things lol</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0032"><h2>32. Shopping Trip</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Well hey!<br/>It's been a bit--<br/>So you see, Mizzu and Jo and I were hitting upon the climax of the IiR One Way splitoff, and I foolishly though the characters (mostly WillBill) wouldn't run off and fuck things up again and we might be able to wrap it up soon. So I put most of my concentration on that and the other day I was like wait-- <i>SHIT</i> when was the last time I updated One Way??<br/>So yeaaaahhhhh<br/><i>*checks discord for the quintillionth time*<br/>*writes one sentence*<br/>*fucks around with my discord rank card*<br/>what was i doing again?<br/>OH</i></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Stanford Pines stood in his room, alone, mentally banging his head against the wall. He...</p><p>He had no idea what to do. At all.</p><p>With Bill, with his research <em> on </em> Bill, with this whole situation.</p><p>There were no easy answers-- and while that was usually how Ford liked things best, it wasn't <em> now. </em></p><p>Even the living situation was a mess. He and Dipper could live in the lab here just fine, but that meant they were going upstairs and using Soos' food and appliances and living space (as well as the risk of being seen coming upstairs during the Mystery Shacks's tour hours.)</p><p>They could move back to the hotel, maybe (he wished Dipper would at least do that) but with Bill here, alone... Ford didn't want to risk it. But wherever Ford went, Dipper followed, and wherever Dipper went, Mabel followed... so on and so forth.</p><p>And the hotel wasn't going to cut it if they were going to stay here long-term. This was supposed to have been a short apprenticeship over the summer, and possibly an invitation to join him and Stan on the Stan 'o War II.</p><p>Perhaps they should have a house built-- Ford, as much as he hated to admit it, was not exactly in the prime of his life anymore, and replicating the Shack as he had built it decades ago with F just wasn't going to work.</p><p>They could likely afford it. There was plenty of land in the small town (and a family of neighboring lumberjacks). Besides, Stan really did rack up an obscene amount of money over the years, through methods Ford didn't exactly want to look into. Pug smuggling and tax evasion were bad enough as it was.</p><p>They could have it built in the near vicinity, and maybe connected to Ford's own lab...</p><p>Yes, that would be the best option, if things continued as they were now.</p><p>But as large of an issue as that was, it was nuts compared to Bill.</p><p>The vessel/body/??? he occupied was fundamentally the same as a human one. Four limbs, same facial features, same organs in the same places, it breathed, ate and performed the same bodily functions. It could sweat and cry and bleed. And Bill claimed it was 'his.'</p><p>Bill Cipher, as he had appeared to Ford, had taken many forms over the years. But they all centered around a triangular motif, all fundamentally 'him.'</p><p>This was nothing like that.</p><p>It was not to be discounted, of course, that the memories Mentum had revealed featured human-looking hands belonging to the 'viewer' and seemed to be 'shot' from around the same height Bill's vessel stood at now. (Speaking of, he really should measure that. He was six feet at <em> least.) </em></p><p>Of course the real and actual problem lay in how to deal with him.</p><p>They absolutely weren't letting him go. Even if they did, it wasn't likely he'd last very long. He'd either get hit by a car, eaten by some forest thing, or arrested and transferred to a psych ward (which, in all honesty, he probably belonged in). But there was no one to vouch for him in family name or reputation, so he'd be stuck in the system for the rest of his very-possibly-now-mortal life.</p><p>Or put under study. After all, as human-like as he was, he simply wasn't. He didn't seem to have proper genetic code, and though the blood sample (red, not silver as showed by Mentum) had seemed to contain the proper cells for circulation and distribution, none of them contained any decipherable DNA or RNA. It was like genetic gibberish.</p><p>But if he really <em> was </em> going to be here… possibly for <em> years… </em></p><p>Ford really needed to work something out.</p><p>First of all, the easiest (and possibly most uncomfortable) problem to tackle was hygiene. Taking Bill in to a doctor or dentist if he were to start having real issues would be problematic. He couldn’t just take him into town, a full-grown ‘man’ with no medical records or birth certificate or identification or anything. Although if it came down to it, Stan could probably work something out. He certainly had the practice, judging by the stacks of fake ID’s Ford had had to dispose of.</p><p>Still.</p><p>Best to be avoided altogether.</p><p>Now, Bill at least had figured out how to walk, eat and drink, use the bathroom, and wash himself. Those were the basics. That was a start.</p><p>Teaching him to brush his teeth was a good next step-- although he doubted it would be a pleasant experience for either of them. Still, he didn’t want either of the twins alone in a small room with Bill, and he didn’t trust Stan to teach Bill properly (he honestly wasn’t sure if his brother brushed his teeth <em> at all.) </em> </p><p>Maybe brushing or combing his hair as well. It wasn’t all that long yet, only just down to his ears. Ford didn’t want to have to try and wrangle him down to cut it until it got long enough it started impeding him, getting into his food when he ate for example, and creating more mess to clean up. Although perhaps by that point he would be a bit… calmer, about the situation. More settled.</p><p>But as for shaving? Ford didn’t in the least feel comfortable enough to let Bill near anything sharp (which was the reason why he’d been feeding him exclusively finger-foods or things that could be consumed with a spoon.) At least, not unless he was completely immobile.</p><p>But Ford didn’t fancy sedating him again. Especially after what he’d seen of the demon’s past.</p><p>It would seem too similar to the both of them, probably, and would only make it harder to deal with Bill in the future.</p><p>He had noticed that one of the twins (or both) had gotten Bill some blankets for his room. That was good. They were soft and there wasn’t much harm he could do with them. Especially when, in this state, Mabel could probably deck him into next week.</p><p>Which reminded him, he’d been making Bill sleep on the floor for the past week or so. Blankets would have to do for now, but Ford was probably going to have to dig up an air mattress from somewhere.</p><p>This had gone on for long enough that Ford couldn’t pretend anymore-- that this was a dream or a sleep-deprived hallucination, that this would end anytime soon, that this was acceptable treatment (even for an enemy.)</p><p>He set down what he was holding on the bed. A freshly-washed yellow suit that had come up in all his tests as a perfectly average piece of clothing. No magic, no weirdness, no unusual properties. Just a very Bill cipher-ish suit. Ford supposed he might as well return it to the demon eventually. Then Bill wouldn’t have to borrow his sweaters so often… oh dear.</p><p>He added possible clothes shopping to the list of things he needed to take care of.</p><p>The list had grown quite long at this point.</p><p>Ah, well. Stan was probably about done with Bill by now, and he would need new, non-syrup-covered clothes. He could go ahead and have his suit back <em> now </em>. Then he wouldn’t have a chance to possibly ruin another one of Ford’s sweaters before they could get him a few shirts and jeans of his own.</p><p>---</p><p>Dipper was running low on pens.</p><p>He scribbled that down on his list, so he wouldn't forget, and reviewed it.</p><p>
  <em> Sleeping bag x2 </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Flashlight + batteries </em>
</p><p>
  <em> New pack of pens (or two??) </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Granola bars </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Water bottles </em>
</p><p>He heard someone knock gently on his 'office' door, and looked up. "Come in."</p><p>It was Grunkle Ford.</p><p>"What's up?" he asked.</p><p>"... Is that a shopping list?"</p><p>"Hm? Yeah." Dipper blushed. "I'm... not as organized with my journals I guess."</p><p>"Neither am I," Grunkle Ford admitted, "Paper is paper. I copy down the important things into a new book when I fill one."</p><p>"Oh." That was actually a really good idea. Dipper scribbled it in the margins of his list so he wouldn't forget it.</p><p>"Seeing as you're already heading out would you mind doing me an odd favor? I'll give you the means to pay for it."</p><p>"Sure."</p><p>"I need you to pick some things up for Bill."</p><p>It really was only a few things. Just some extra toiletries and some clothes. He would have to bring Mabel along, of course. It would be hilarious to see Bill walking around in whatever she came up with for him-- undoubtedly something eye-wateringly bright.</p><p>It turned out Mabel had a few things she needed as well. By this point the list was double its original size.</p><p>
  <em> Toothbrush + toothpaste </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Clothes (shirts x3; pants x3) </em>
</p><p><em> Vitamin gummies </em>(Dipper's own contribution to the Bill part of the list. Judging by the demon's appetite, it didn't seem to be that hard to get him to eat stuff, but it wasn't like he'd really had much more than bread or bread with things on it. But neither he or Grunkle Ford were sure if he knew how to swallow vitamin <em>pills</em>-- and if he did, if it would stress him out and make him violent again.)</p><p>
  <em> Hair ties </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Stickers </em>
</p><p><em> Polaroid photo pack refills </em>(The scrapbook collection was still going strong. Dipper wasn't sure if this was a good or a bad thing.)</p><p>It was nearly noon by the time he and Mabel headed out, borrowing the Stanmobile, which had been kept in storage (--Grunkle Stan didn't want to let the thing go.) Of course, this was only after promising not to dent it, get into an accident, or scratch the paint and to pay for gas.</p><p><em> "Sooooo, </em> I get to help pick out the clothes right?" Mabel asked, from the passenger seat. She was playing with the radio-- which Dipper had agreed not to fight her on as long as she kept the volume low until she picked something to settle on. Which might very well take her the whole ride to the mall.</p><p>"Absolutely."</p><p>She grinned her best evil grin. "He is going to look so adorable when I'm done with him."</p><p>"Oh no, what ever will we do?" Dipper said, in flat tones.</p><p>"Do you think we could get him to wear a dress?"</p><p>"Hell if I know." Dipper tried to picture this (while still paying attention to the road.) It sounded kind of hilarious, actually.</p><p>"Well. We'll just have to try and find out!"</p><p>He pulled into the mall parking lot and they both got out. He triple checked the Stanmobile was locked, before Mabel grabbed his hand and pulled him away.</p><p>"Come <em> on, </em>it's time for shopping!"</p><p>Shopping for a demon.</p><p>Eh, they'd done weirder things.</p><p>Even though they had other things to get, Mabel dragged him straight to the clothing section of the mall.</p><p>"Mabel..."</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"Look, how about you pick the stuff out and I get everything else?"</p><p>"Aww, that's no fun. Plus, you can model for me!"</p><p>"No, no, <em> absolutely not." </em></p><p>She huffed at him. "Don't you start. I have <em> excellent </em> taste in fashion. Plus we haven't even gotten to hang our properly yet!"</p><p>He guessed that was true. the whole 'Bill' thing had pretty much overthrown their summer plans.</p><p>Dipper pocketed his list. "Fine. But we're going to the dress section first."</p><p>"Yessss!" Mabel pumped her fists in the hair, sending her pink flamingo earrings shaking.</p><p>She didn't have to drag him this time, but she held onto his hand anyway.</p><p>Ever since Weirdmaggedon, they'd been a lot more touchy-feely with each other, especially when they were stressed. And <em> Especially </em>-especially at first, when there was that irrational but persistent worry that if they left --or even let go-- for a moment, one of them would be taken away. Or killed. Or have their molecules disassembled.</p><p>So that meant a lot of hugs. Hand-holding. Sharing a room up until their early teens, and then insisting on sleeping next door to each other. Mabel didn't start having sleepovers away from home until she was sixteen.</p><p>And now they were going to coerce the creator of that terror into the stupidest, silliest dress they could find. Together.</p><p>He squeezed Mabel's hand back as they made their way through aisles of clothing. Everything smelled like fabric and disinfectant-- and sort of like coffee, there was a Moonbucks around here somewhere.</p><p>"Aaaaand, here we are!" Mabel swept her free hand in a dramatic arc.</p><p>There were a few limitations on what they could get. firstly, it had to be something that would fit Grunkle Ford, since his clothes seemed to fit Bill okay. Also, how much money were they willing to put into making a certain demon look like an idiot (the answer was probably more than it should be.)</p><p>Dipper noticed Mabel looking over a few of the nicer dresses that were her style, but she left them alone for now (although she'd be dragging him right back around the annual banquet the Northwests always held. A suit for him and a dress for her to glow up with her own touches, and probably a few tons of glitter besides. He'd count himself lucky of she didn't try to 'fancify' his bow-tie.)</p><p>The first dress that might fit their standards was a normalish looking white one. Except it was also covered in obnoxiously clashing stripes. Dipper tugged on her hand and pointed it out to her.</p><p>"Hmm. Too good for him," was her verdict. "Of course, I can always fix it up at home if need be."</p><p>They perused the dress sections of multiple retail shops for the better part of an hour, before they settled on one.</p><p>The runners-up were a dress with blue unicorns on it (Mabel still held a long-standing grudge against the creatures) and a bright yellow one with pink spots.</p><p>And the winner <em> (drumroll, please)... </em></p><p>A dress with a big poofy skirt. It was sort of blue and sort of red, but not quite purple. By all accounts it <em> should be </em> purple but it just. Wasn't. Absolutely eyewatering.</p><p>Perfect.</p><p>They rang it up at the counter, Mabel muffling giggles and imagining how it would look on Bill as Dipper paid, using the cash Grunkle Ford had given them for Bill's clothes.</p><p>$44.99</p><p>That was pretty expensive for something so offensive. But Dipper considered it money well-spent.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>WOW i feel so much better ‘stretching my legs’ on my own again<br/>I needed that<br/>A N Y W A Y S </p><p>You can expect more mall shenanigans in the next chapter!<br/>And yes, the chosen dress is a reference to Mizzu’s ‘bled’ from</p><p> </p><p>  <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/13291395/chapters/30416835#workskin">Illusion is Reality (also a gf fanfic)</a></p><p> </p><p>Here is a picture from her fic of the color:</p><p> </p><p>  </p><p> </p><p>Me after posting a chapter, waiting for my comments and kudos:</p><p> </p><p>  </p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0033"><h2>33. Dreamvisitor Part 2: Electric Boogaloo</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>by the way, when i put slow burn in the tags??<br/>i meant it</p><p> </p><p>  <a href="https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PLrJB2-ZLiFwdPyfUgL3ICeBFJNkYlumbI">The updated one Way playlist, for your listening and reading pleasure~</a></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The twins took their time finishing the shopping. After all, when was the last time they'd had a proper day out together, just the two of them? They wandered through the mall for hours, hand-in-hand, taking turns carrying the bags. Dipper made sure they got what they needed (and dragged Mabel out to the car to drop everything off before they stopped for lunch at the food court.)</p><p>Then she dragged him off, predictably, to the little pet shop. <em> ("Ohmygod </em> I want one so bad. Do you think we could get one? Do you think the grunkles would be mad?") She was only peeled away from staring at the kittens by Dipper's promise that they could return later, if their grunkles said yes. He did not want to be the one to let her down about this-- not their house, no pets allowed in the apartment.</p><p>It did suck, though. She'd already lost Waddles...</p><p>They finally left the mall around five pm with their pockets considerably emptier of cash-- and fuller of candy. They loaded up and strapped in.</p><p>The leather seats of the Stanmobile were still warm from the sun, despite it having dipped a bit lower now, obscured by the mall itself. It smelled like stale soda and the 'new car' scent ornament hung over the mirror.</p><p>It was... surprisingly well-kept.</p><p>Maybe it shouldn't have been so surprising. Despite how messy it had appeared, the Mystery Shack and its gift shop were always 'organized' in their Grunkle Stan's sense of the word, and maintained, and kept up. And the Stanmobile-- that was his lovechild. Or had been, before he'd finally, finally gotten his hands on the Stan o' War II.</p><p>He was startled momentarily out of his thoughts as Mabel cranked up the volume.</p><p>Looked like she'd finally found a station she liked.</p><p>And he could tell why in an instant-- because one of her favorite songs was playing, and her face was all lit up. She was almost bouncing in her seat next to him, waiting for the singing to start. And she belted out the words.</p><p>
  <em> Sun is shinin' in the sky </em>
</p><p>
  <em> There ain't a cloud in sight </em>
</p><p>
  <em> It's stopped rainin' everybody's in the play </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And don't you know </em>
</p><p>
  <em> It's a beautiful new day, hey hey </em>
</p><p>He listened to his sister sing, and wondered what would have been. If they would have been happier. Or if they would have fallen away from each other like their grunkles before them.</p><p>
  <em> Hey you with the pretty face </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Welcome to the human race </em>
</p><p>
  <em> A celebration, Mr. Blue Sky's up there waitin' </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And today is the day we've waited for </em>
</p><p>When they finally pulled up to the Mystery Shack, Dipper was dead tired. In a good way.</p><p>He'd needed this.</p><p>He waited with Mabel in the car until the song they were on finally ended, and went around to the back passenger seats to grab the Chinese takeout they'd picked up on the way home. (It was the least they could do, for Soos.) Mabel declared (and proved) that she could carry all of their purchases inside at once.</p><p>This meant, unfortunately, that he owed her $10.</p><p>Which he'd been feeling pretty secure in getting from her, but apparently his sister was a she-hulk under those sweaters.</p><p>Oh well.</p><p>After all this, the arrival of the resident demon at the dinner table wasn't enough to do more than mildly dampen his mood. Especially since he was being quiet (for now) and sitting down nicely by himself... in his suit?</p><p>Dipper did a small double-take. He hadn't really thought to ask where it had gone. He guessed he'd assumed Grunkle Ford had had it, but-- well. He hadn't expected his grunkle to give it <em> back </em>. Not so soon. Not when it could still have weirdness on it.</p><p>Second thing-- suits were hard. Especially bowties. But Bill seemed to have gotten it on just fine on his own (Dipper didn't have to wonder if either of his grunkles would dress Bill even if he asked-- they <em> wouldn't </em> and most definitely <em> shouldn't </em>.)</p><p>So. Apparently he could cook and dress snappy even like this. Although he'd seemed to have issues with the sweater. Maybe because it wasn't a button-up shirt but shouldn't buttons be <em> harder? </em></p><p>Seriously,<em> why? </em> He had a suspiciously spotty skillset. (He made a mental note to get more information later, from the <em> source itself.) </em></p><p>"Thanks for getting dinner, dudes," Soos told him, as Dipper began to take the cartons out of the bag. He'd known Soos long enough to know what he liked, and Grunkle Stan. Grunkle Ford was a bit of a toss-up, but he didn't seem picky about food. Just had a shitty appetite. (Dipper guessed what with his... <em> experiences </em>... he couldn't afford to be picky about what he ate, anyway.)</p><p>"No problem," Dipper told him, as Mabel said, "Sure, dude."</p><p>As Dipper continued to set things out, Grunkle Ford came over to help him. Grunkle Stan was helping Mabel get plates and cups and grumbling about his back as she teased him about trying experimental acupuncture. </p><p>Never a dull moment. For better or for worse.</p><p>Since he and his sister knew who's food was what they divvied it up. He'd gotten three orders of his usual, since it was pretty mild --plain white rice, orange chicken-- for himself, his Grunkle, and Bill.</p><p>Bill looked a bit miffed that he was the only one at the table with a paper plate.</p><p>But at least that way the worst he could do was make a mess, if he threw a tantrum.</p><p>Luckily the utensils the food had come with --disposable chopsticks and plastic forks-- were relatively non-lethal. Not that any of them knew how to use chopsticks.</p><p><em> "So~!" </em> Mabel began. "How is everyone?"</p><p>A pause.</p><p>...That turned into silence.</p><p>Yeah. Dinners weren't exactly a picnic with <em> certain company </em> involved. (Still, it felt mean to wish Bill was still in the basement. Even if they all had to avert their eyes at his table manners. Because rice was flying <em> everywhere.) </em></p><p>So, of course, Mabel zeroed in on him to be her second-in-command of the Cheer Everyone Up committee."Dip-Dop! What'd you think of dress shopping with me?"</p><p>"Uh. It was fun?" he put out, and promptly shoved a bit of chicken into his face to excuse himself from any further questioning.</p><p>"Dress shopping?" Grunkle Ford asked. He eyed Dipper. "Did you--"</p><p>He forced down the chicken. "Yeah, I got everything on the list."</p><p>"Speaking of the list~" Mabel said, grinning evilly as she revealed a choice bit of information, "the dress wasn't for me."</p><p>The Grunkles both stared at Dipper.</p><p>Nope no, <em> no. </em></p><p>"I'm still a guy," he said quickly. "Not that-- not that guys can't wear dresses. But its not for me."</p><p>"'S not for me either, right?" Grunkle Stan asked, raising an eyebrow.</p><p>But before either of the twins could answer, Soos dropped his fork and said, "Dude, you <em> didn't." </em></p><p>"Yes we did," Mabel said, twirling her fork through her noodles. "And he's going to wear it tomorrow. And I'm gonna take pictures." She popped the noodles in her mouth. "Cahn't miss ah scrapbookorhtunity like taht."</p><p>And of course, Bill (along with everyone else) finally caught on.</p><p>He didn't say anything, although he stiffened when all eyes at the table landed on him, and stabbed his fork rather roughly into a piece of meat. He did his usual quick suspicious glare-at-everyone-at-the-table-like-they-were-playing-a-joke-on-him thing.</p><p>And then he... relaxed?</p><p>Bill sat a little back in his chair, and relaxed. The tension in his shoulders just drained out, way, way too fast, and his expression smoothed out into something vaguely and coldly... pleased. Like he was putting on a stage persona.</p><p>Except that, despite his demeanor, one hand was playing nervously with his bowtie.</p><p>"What is it?" Grunkle Ford asked the demon, voice laced with his own suspicion.</p><p>"Nothing that concerns you." Bill picked up his fork and resumed eating. Slightly more carefully than he had been before, but with the same kind of frantic energy.</p><p>Which reminded him. He should leave some food downstairs with him.</p><p>Except-- it had to be something that he could open. And something hopefully not messy or apt to go bad and why was everything Bill-related so, <em> so </em> complicated?</p><p>"Sounds like it definitely concerns me."</p><p>"Haven't worn a dress in awhile is all." He bit down sharply on his last bit of food and there was a small snapping noise. He grimaced and spat out several plastic fork tines-- along with the food he'd been eating.</p><p>...Which he then put back in his mouth.</p><p>
  <em> ("Dude.") </em>
</p><p>Eugh. Yeah.</p><p>Definitely needed to teach him meal etiquette, <em> the sooner the better. </em></p><p>"Look's like you're done," Grunkle Ford said, standing up from the table. Bill dropped the fork. His 'calm' almost dropped for a moment, but the moment passed, and he held his arm out for Ford to take, and let himself be led away. Not dragged, exactly. And not as slouchy and reluctant as before.</p><p>Looked like having his old suit back gave him some confidence. Again, whether it was for better or worse, it <em> was. </em> And Dipper really needed to start writing this stuff down.</p><p>"Uh, Grunkle Ford? We got him pajamas," Mabel called after them.</p><p>Grunkle Stan shook his head slightly. "Deal with that tomorrow," and then, to Mabel, "the sooner my brother gets to bed the better. He's been pacing around all day, thinking <em> very loudly." </em></p><p>"Is he okay?" she asked.</p><p>Dipper listened in, concerned himself but using this opportunity to sneak out his notebook.</p><p>"He got proper food, for once. He needs to sleep. <em> Hopefully </em> at least six hours, but that might be a stretch for him-- no books at the table, Dipper."</p><p>"Just lemme finish this sentence."</p><p>"Dipper."</p><p>"Almost done!" <em> Aaaaaand </em> yeah he was gonna have to sort out all this rushed chicken scratch later. Not enough time to lay out his thoughts properly, not yet.</p><p>Grunkle Stan's hand closed around the notebook and pulled it away from him, shutting it. Dipper looked up at him, open mouthed.</p><p>"Dinner time is family time." (At this, Soos grinned. Stan had unofficially 'adopted' him as a kid, letting him on as an employee, and basically sealed the deal by signing the Shack over to him. Still, it was almost sad to Dipper how excited Soos got when he was included in things.) "You can have it back when everyone's done."</p><p>"I was trying to--"</p><p>"I'm not fighting you on this. Everyone's almost done. But Mabel was trying to have a conversation. A family conversation. That's what people do, and we haven't in a while. If you don't wanna, <em> fine </em>, but you can tolerate everyone for fifteen minutes of mealtime."</p><p>"That's-- fine. Okay."</p><p>That seemed a little <em> extreme </em>of a reaction, but-- well, he was probably stressed. About Bill. About Grunkle Ford. Hell-- how often had Ford read around the table? Didn't they have a falling out when they got older, even before the whole science fair thing?</p><p>Dipper resigned himself to sitting here a while longer. His notes could wait. They would have to wait.</p><p>Mabel offered him a small smile. "...Wanna help me glitterify the dress?"</p><p>***</p><p> Dipper went to sleep and woke up, alone, inside his own head.</p><p>Which was... strange. To say the least.</p><p>Just. <em> Him. </em> Alone in infinity.</p><p>Not that he missed Bill's snarking at him all the time.</p><p>Still.</p><p>He could... just go to sleep from here. He thought he might know how. It seemed intuitive.</p><p>Or he could try to do that 'dreamwalking' thing.</p><p>Although-- he sort of doubted he could. After all, he was a human and Bill was --or had been-- a dream demon.</p><p>Still. Worth a try.</p><p>Maybe he could find Mabel, try and help her with her nightmares.</p><p>But how did someone leave their own mind? Or did they?</p><p>Did they just-- carry it with them, into someone else's? And where <em> was </em>everyone else, anyway? 'Outside?'</p><p>Or...</p><p>Was this some kinda stupid meditation thing where you were supposed to 'sense' a 'presence?'</p><p>Even with his belief in the supernatural, it was hard not to feel a little silly trying.</p><p>But Dipper went with it. When in Rome...</p><p>And.</p><p>Well.</p><p>They weren't 'Outside.'</p><p>They were just <em> there. </em></p><p>Lots of them.</p><p>Definitely more than lived in Gravity Falls. Or even Oregon. Or maybe North America. Or maybe--</p><p>There were a lot, is what he was trying to say.</p><p>Also, he felt like his entire self was... vibrating.</p><p>It wasn't <em> uncomfortable. </em> It didn't <em> hurt. </em>It just felt strange as fuck.</p><p>So.</p><p>He had found the people.</p><p>But who was who?</p><p>Was it about... familiarity? Or intent, like with most spells he'd read about? Maybe--</p><p>
  <em> What was that sound? </em>
</p><p>Dipper froze-- or tried to, still vibrating in place.</p><p>It was something distorted. Like... music. And static. And voices.</p><p>They weren't speaking English. Or any language he understood.</p><p>Just whispering. Breathing. Thinking.</p><p>It took a long few moments for Dipper to begin to relax again, as nothing happened, and the noise settled into the background of his own mind.</p><p>Just the sounds of this place. Nothing malicious, probably.</p><p>Like the odd lights and flashes at the edge of his vision, like synapses firing, emotions spreading and passing from one person to another.</p><p>This was <em> so fucking weird. </em></p><p>He reached out carefully, mentally-- he didn't actually seem to have a body anymore? Not just like when Bill had possesed him, when his ghost had still been him-shaped.</p><p>Dipper was just. Something else now.</p><p>It didn't feel exactly unnatural, though.</p><p>It felt more like being on the edge of a dreamless sleep, not able to sense your limbs, just your thoughts, in the distance.</p><p>Dipper looked for someone familiar. For someone who could maybe explain this to him.</p><p>And sort of got pulled/pulled himself/found himself in a new place.</p><p>A sort of rush of movement, soft energy tickling him, and... he was here.</p><p>It reminded him of his own Mindscape, a big, empty void-ish place, except instead of nothingness, it was suffused with some kind of gold light, clouds far out in all directions. Like a storm in a bottle.</p><p>Somewhat more contained. Somewhat safer-feeling.</p><p>And there were <em> things </em> here.</p><p>A small cushioned seat, and a table like you might sit at to have tea.</p><p>And one silver-blue teapot with a very familiar, faintly-glowing sigil carved into it.</p><p>This was Bill's Mindscape.</p><p>Which--</p><p>Shouldn't it have been harder to get <em> here </em> , of all places? Bill was a <em> dream demon. </em></p><p>Shouldn't he be able to keep people out? All minds weren't communal spaces, were they?</p><p>Or-- did he just never expect anyone to try? Or had he protected it before, with his now-gone magic?</p><p>Or had he just never slept until he became human?</p><p>That might make sense. <em> Maybe. </em></p><p>Bill himself was still here. Dipper could sense him easily, now. He wasn't even trying to hide.</p><p>But he wasn't in the triangle form he'd always been in in Dipper's head. Not that he was humanoid either, or anything that distinct.</p><p>He was more... everywhere. It was hard to explain.</p><p>Like fog. Or a cloud of energy (was this what Dipper was, right now?)</p><p>But he didn't seem to be very active right now.</p><p>He was moving, slowly, in a kind of rhythm, like breathing, or a heart beating. Little waves of suppressed anxiety washing through his Mindscape as he did.</p><p>"...Bill?"</p><p>Should he leave?</p><p>Bill was absolutely going to be upset if he stayed. Although he did seem to actually, mentally be sleeping.</p><p>And Dipper wondered briefly if it would be that hard to access Bill's memories. After all, he'd fucked with all of their heads all the time. And he was curious.</p><p>Bill wouldn't like that either, but it would just be a quick look.</p><p>Karma.</p><p>Right?</p><p>Dipper tried to figure out how this would work, but apparently concentrating on the need to find the memories brought up something else. He didn't move from where he was at all, just-- more things became visible.</p><p>Memories.</p><p>A certifiably shit ton of them.</p><p>Scattered everywhere, like stars.</p><p>Some of them were organized into shapes or patterns that must have made sense to the demon himself. Some were on their own, shoved far out. Others heaped in clusters, like they were tossed there and never touched again.</p><p>There was one especially bright star, also all on its own. But this one was near the center of where Bill was concentrated, and where this little pocket of space seemed to be 'centered.' Like he was holding it while he slept.</p><p>Maybe he was dreaming it. Was that why it was brighter? Or another reason altogether?</p><p>Either way, Dipper moved forward, towards it, carefully, until it was close enough to touch. Or be touched by--</p><p>It unfolded around him silently on contact.</p><p>And he found himself in his own, familiar human body. Near the lake, right here in Gravity Falls-- although it seemed a little bluer than usual. And he didn't recognize the trees around him. They were exactly the same kind as ringed the pond, but in an entirely unfamiliar order, and clustered tightly the further in he looked.</p><p>Like he wasn't meant to go into them.</p><p>It seemed like a summer's day. The sun was out, and bright, and warm. His sun and his sky.</p><p>Earth.</p><p>Why would Bill be dreaming about Earth?</p><p>He was in the dream. It was easy to tell now that Dipper was in it too.</p><p>He was here. But <em> why? </em></p><p>Dipper felt and found him closer to the water's edge. He still wasn't in any particular shape, even though Dipper had automatically been reverted to his natural body upon entering.</p><p>Which meant maybe that <em> was </em> Bill's natural form.</p><p>Just energy.</p><p>
  <em> I'm a being of PURE ENERGY with NO WEAKNESS! </em>
</p><p>Either way, he was occupied here, and nothing much seemed to be happening.</p><p>He should go. Look at something else, or leave, before Bill woke up.</p><p>Dipper reached for the edges of it, trying to pull himself out, when it flickered around him.</p><p>The same lake. The same shape. Everything else was different.</p><p>The plants. The sky. The sun<em> s, </em> plural.</p><p>And when he tried to leave again, pulling himself closer to the 'outside' of it, it changed yet again, for a split-second. Like he was seeing a different version of it.</p><p>Maybe he was going about this wrong?</p><p>But he was closer to <em> out. </em></p><p>Dipper grabbed hold again and pulled.</p><p>Or tried to.</p><p>Because just then, he felt himself yanked fiercely backward.</p><p>"S̴t̶o̵p̷ ̶b̷r̷e̴a̷k̸i̷n̸g̴ ̶i̸t̵!"</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I've recently been invited to work on a Multi-Animator Project, so a lot of my attention is going there for the next month-- it's ending end of April (this month) though, so it shan't be long.<br/>If you're interested, it's looking for more animators, as a lot of the old ones quit. It's for the portal fanfiction Blue Sky-- which was the first fanfiction I've ever read and is actually rather close to my heart, haha. You can find the link <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M-jfFc8hUlM&amp;lc=UgwF4ONsO-SGhXLqPAR4AaABAg.9Lbfy5Ikzz69LbneOmvxio">here</a> for the storyboard. The Discord to join is in the description.</p><p> </p><p>  </p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0034"><h2>34. Cards on the Table</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>My... well, I guess it's not a headcanon, because it's my story, but I have Will Cipher at his species equivalent of twelve years old when he is summoned by the Gleefuls. Realized I didn't include that detail in this story yet-- thought I did but I didn't! Ha!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dipper froze on the spot, on instinct, as he felt his Self snatched up by the force behind him.</p><p>The dream/memory/??? around him folded completely back in on itself, deconstructing in the space of a second, folding away into a soft pinprick of nothing.</p><p>Bill let go of him.</p><p>That-- it surprised him. He'd let go.</p><p>Dipper half-expected to fall or something, but there really wasn't any kind of tangible <em> anything, </em> so he just ended up standing/floating/ <em> being </em> where he was. In the middle of the now-nothingness-again space of Bill's conscious Mindscape. Still human-shaped. Still him-shaped.</p><p>He spun around and found himself faced with an impassive yellow triangle. Which stared right back at him.</p><p>Bill wasn't red. Or on fire. Or shouting. So... that was a good sign?</p><p>Except, he wasn't doing anything at all.</p><p>Just staring.</p><p>The only indication that he might be upset was that his singular eye was black, the pupil gold, the way it had looked in that other form that haunted his nightmares.</p><p>Furious...(?)</p><p>After a long string of moments of <em> silence, </em> Bill reached out to the side and caught hold of his cane, which manifested in his hand. He swung it around a few times for good measure, and pointed it at Dipper. "W̸h̵y̸ ̸a̷r̴e̸ ̶y̸o̵u̶ ̵h̵e̶r̶e̶?̴"</p><p>It took a good bit of self-control not to wince at his voice. The very familiar and angry distortion, the distinct inhuman-ness of it, now that it wasn't filtered through his body's vocal cords.</p><p>Bill withdrew the cane after a moment and returned to spinning it, impatiently.</p><p>Not once this whole time had he blinked.</p><p>"I..." Dipper began, marshalling his thoughts.</p><p>Okay. It was fine. Bill couldn't hurt him here.</p><p>He would just explain.</p><p>"I wanted to see if I could do the-- the dream thingy. I wasn't trying to come here. I was looking for Mabel."</p><p>"I̸f̴ ̷y̶o̸u̸ ̴w̷e̷r̸e̸ ̵l̸o̸o̴k̵i̸n̸g̶ ̵f̵o̷r̵ ̷H̷E̶R̶,̷ ̵t̵h̴e̶n̵ ̵y̷o̶u̶ ̸w̶o̶u̵l̸d̴n̸'̴t̵ ̴h̶a̴v̶e̶ ̸w̶o̶u̷n̸d̶ ̸u̴p̶ ̶H̴E̶R̷E̷.̵"</p><p>"Well I-- I mean, I wanted to see her. But I also-- I-- okay. I have no idea how anything works here. You do. Obviously. So. I... wanted help? Not like-- I didn't try to consciously seek you out, but--"</p><p>"Y̵o̸u̴ ̶s̵h̷o̷u̷l̴d̵n̵'̸t̴ ̶h̷a̷v̵e̶.̷" Bill told him. Aside from the creepy nightmarish distortion of his voice, he sounded way too calm. "Y̷o̴u̵.̵ ̷A̵r̸e̷ ̴g̴o̷i̷n̶g̸ ̴t̸o̵ ̵l̵e̸a̴v̶e̴ ̵N̵O̶W̷.̸ ̷I̴ ̵a̷m̸ ̷g̷o̵i̸n̶g̷ ̸t̴o̴ ̸h̶e̷l̶p̶ ̷y̷o̸u̶ ̸w̷i̶t̸h̶ ̴t̸h̵a̷t̴ ̴s̶o̵ ̶y̵o̵u̶ ̷d̷o̸n̸'̴t̷ ̷B̷R̶E̶A̴K̴ ̸a̵n̴y̷t̵h̷i̸n̷g̷.̶" The cane stopped spinning, falling to rest in Bill's palm with a sharp smack, "A̴n̸d̴ ̴y̵o̷u̷ ̸W̵I̵L̷L̷ ̸N̸O̶T̷ ̶c̵o̶m̶e̷ ̶b̴a̴c̸k̷.̷ ̶I̴ ̶w̶i̵l̴l̷ ̸b̵e̶ ̸w̷a̵t̶c̴h̵i̷n̶g̷.̴ ̷E̷V̴E̶R̶Y̶.̶ ̴N̷I̸G̷H̴T̷.̴"̶</p><p>"Sure," Dipper said, trying not to sound intimidated. "I didn't mean any harm by it or anything I just--"</p><p>"N̵o̴. Go away." He sounded almost tired.</p><p>Then again, Dipper had 'woken him up.' Mentally, at least.</p><p>"You gonna stay out of my head and memories? And everyone else's?"</p><p>Bill's eye narrowed slightly.</p><p>"Fine."</p><p>"Oh, and one more question," Dipper said. "While we're both here --and there's no use shoving me out when I ask it 'cause I can just ask again in the morning--" he took a breath (which was entirely unnecessary since he didn't need to breathe here) "Why did you-- do what you did. The other night. With my dream."</p><p>
  <em> Why did you help me? </em>
</p><p>A few shades of red rippled through Bill's bricks before he settled back to an (albeit darker) yellow.</p><p>He adjusted his grip in his cane.</p><p>There was a near-unnoticeable staticky buzz, like the circuits of a machine slowly frying themselves.</p><p>"Well," Bill said, at last. "Thought it'd take care of it with less effort on my part."</p><p>"Why help <em> at all?" </em></p><p>That static picked up a notch.</p><p>Bill blinked. For the first time in the entire conversation.</p><p>And the sound immediately stopped.</p><p>"The a̷nswe̷r̸ is̸nt ve̶r̷y̸ ple̸a̴sant. For y̷o̸u̷ at least," he added. "This whole thing is just a m̵a̸n̵i̶p̸u̵l̷a̸t̸i̶o̴n̵ tactic. I was o̷f̶ ̸u̷s̵e̴ to you. I did something... <em> n̴i̸c̶e̷," </em> he said the word as if it were distasteful. "Although I wouldn't put it that way. See, P̷i̸n̴e̷ ̶T̶r̴e̷e̴ ̷, endearing myself to you has its benefits. Because you are a <em> h̷u̴m̵a̸n̵ ̸ </em> with <em> e̴m̴p̶a̴t̶h̷y̵ </em>. And if I don't have you, I have n̵o̵ ̸o̵n̶e̷."</p><p>Dipper just stared.</p><p>Bill had laid his cards on the table.</p><p>Like that.</p><p>Like nothing.</p><p>There had to be a reason.</p><p>Well... there was. One. Maybe. That he could think of. Mostly because it was working.</p><p>This was a guilt-trip... and... an admission.</p><p>Bill needed his help. Or, like he had mentioned earlier that morning, he might very well be killed by his Grunkles. Which... well. It was technically fair. Wasn't it? Dipper shook himself mentally before he ended up running the trolley problem through his head a thousand times.</p><p>What was done was <em> done. </em></p><p>Moving forward.</p><p>"What is it you want?"</p><p>"I want out. Of the basement. Of the Shack. Of the t̶o̶w̵n̸."</p><p>Without his magic --his <em> weirdness-- </em>he might very well be able to pass through the weirdness barrier around Gravity Falls.</p><p>"What then?"</p><p>"Then you go home. And neither of us have to deal with the other again."</p><p>Dipper ran a hand through his hair, almost knocking his hat off, forgetting he apparently had it with his dream Self. (Had it really become such a part of his identity?) "Look. You would die out there. Much faster than in here."</p><p>"I̵--"</p><p>"Bill. You can't even brush your own teeth. You barely know how to walk or eat. <em> You would die." </em></p><p>Silence. Another few passes of bright, angry red.</p><p>"I... will help you. But not with leaving. It's not-- I'm not going to smuggle you out and run all over who knows where with you. But I will try to stop them from killing you. We can--" he sighed. "If <em> you </em> can actually, really change, they won't kill you." Probably? Hopefully? Maybe. "I will help you survive. But you have to listen to me. And learn things. And <em> change." </em></p><p>"F̷I̴N̶E̸."</p><p>Dipper had a feeling the demon didn't really mean it.</p><p>But he had agreed. Which meant he was at least willing to pretend. And to listen.</p><p>And Dipper would just keep him faking it until he actually made it.</p><p>(At least, he hoped.)</p><p>△▲△</p><p>When Stanford re-entered the room again, it was already lightening with that pale white-blue light that come from those window things. Different than the silvery, cold and dim stuff that had been called, in this being's language, 'moonlight.' It was warmer and brighter, but not as deep and orange as 'firelight,' as had been in the thing called the fireplace.</p><p>Will looked it up.</p><p>
  <em> Sunlight. </em>
</p><p>He liked it.</p><p>He wiggled happily in the air as he caught sight of his friend finally returning. "Hello!"</p><p>Stanford blinked, took a step back. "Why are you--"</p><p>"Blue? I like blue," Will explained simply.</p><p>"Ah... William? The point of that form, for you, is to help you blend in, yes?"</p><p>"Yes." That, and for fun. To try something new.</p><p>"Well, humans don't come in... blue, like that. If you would like, you can keep your hair blue, and say that it is 'dyed.' And your eyes as well-- ah, not all of them, just this part," he leaned in, sort of, tapping a finger below one of his own eyes. "The little ring here. That's the colored part, for humans."</p><p>"Oh," Will said, momentarily disappointed, and then "okay!" and he did as asked with a snap of his fingers (not because that was necessary, but because it was a cool effect.) He basked in the look of startled awe on Stanford's face, and grinned. He searched for the proper word to convey what he wanted, then held out his arms and said, <em>"Voilà!"</em></p><p>Stanford paused. Blinked. Then chuckled.</p><p>Will did another little loop in the air, stopping upside down this time, hanging in front of Stanford. "Can I come out now?"</p><p>Stanford was smiling at him a little, as if he really didn't want to but couldn't help it. "Alright, just a moment. Impatient thing."</p><p><em> "Yes, </em> because I wanna <em> see things!" </em></p><p>"You'll see plenty, soon enough," he soothed, bending down on one knee to examine the binding circle of the previous night and rubbing out select portions of it at a time, until Will was free. He flew out, did a circuit of the room, and stretched his limbs and his magic. It was nice not to be cooped up anymore, even in as strange and silly a body as this.</p><p>"Woah, woah, calm down, don't break anything please."</p><p>"If I do, I can just fix it," Will assured him, but he did slow to a stop, hovering in front of Stanford.</p><p>"You know, I have been thinking, if we made some adjustments to your body... vessel? I would call it? If we made some adjustments to your vessel, it might be able to help you appear more human. In which case we can travel outside of the manor. There are lots of things out there I'm sure you'd appreciate. Museums, zoos, the like. Things to look at and do that you simply can't do here."</p><p>Will looked up a 'zoo.' It sounded like such a weird word.</p><p>It was... a place. Full of beings.</p><p>'Animals.'</p><p>Wonderful animals. Some of them bore resemblance to other species in all sorts of dimensions Will had made Deals in. Although, they seemed to be locked away, and that was... that was sad.</p><p>"William?"</p><p>"Hm?" He blinked, closing his All-Seeing Eye. "Oh." The outside. He wanted to see the outside. The pretty animals. Maybe he could help them. Probably he could. After all, <em> magic. </em>"What would I have to do?" he asked.</p><p>"You? Nothing much. I could take care of the process if you'd lend me a little magic. After all, a few of my thirteen PhD's are in the bio-sciences."</p><p>Lend him some magic? That would be easy-- if a little tiring, depending on what his friend wanted to do. Like with Mabel the day before.</p><p>Will shrugged happily. "Okay. Will it... take long?"</p><p>"Not if you are still and quiet and let me concentrate."</p><p>"Okay!"</p><p>And Will would be. He would be the stillest and the quietest <em> ever. </em></p><p>He hovered eagerly behind Stanford as he made his way to one of his bookshelves and grabbed a few big ones out, some the thickness of Will's own arm, and laid them out on one of the tables. It was filled with labels and drawings and diagrams and writing. Will knew he could translate it if he tried. If he<em> concentrated. </em></p><p>He squinted his eyes at one of the bits of text.</p><p>
  <em> Human... ana...anatomy: the... mu...mus...muscular system. </em>
</p><p>Hah! He did it!</p><p>In the margins were some much messier words, in a different color, and not nearly as neat and straight, as if they had been maybe added in later, like an afterthought.</p><p>
  <em> Con...convince... </em>
</p><p>"Are you ready, William?"</p><p>His head snapped up. "Oh! Yes. Yes I am."</p><p>Stanford held out a hand for his. "You can go ahead and transfer it straight through to me. Unlike my grand-niece, I have some experience in the area of unaided magic. She's still a bit young for that, I think."</p><p>Will placed his hand in Stanford's. His was larger than Will's, almost fully eclipsed it. It was warm.</p><p>He concentrated on sending just the tiniest bit though, to start. He didn't want to break Stanford on accident. Mortal bodies were finicky sometimes. But aside from a sharp intake of breath, and a slight widening around the eyes, Stanford appeared to be fine. So Will slowly fed him a little more.</p><p>After a good few moments, Stanford seemed to un-freeze, readjusted his glasses, and leaned over one of the books. The one Will had been trying to read.</p><p>"Say... William?" He looked up.</p><p>Will tilted his head at him, and whispered, "What?" remembering he was supposed to be quiet.</p><p>"I've just had a thought. Your vessel. If it gets hurt or... killed off, in any way, you still live, right?"</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>"And you can control it? Heal it."</p><p>Also yes! Will nodded.</p><p>"Hm." Stanford paused for a moment, as if in thought, then continued on a beat later. He must think <em> really really </em> fast. "Well, if-- if you were to let me give you human insides, I could... use them. Will, do you know what... cancer is, for example?"</p><p>"I can find out."</p><p>"I'll just explain. Cancer is a disease that affects humans and other creatures. We cannot cure it yet. And there are limited ways and times to try and experiment, because it could cost lives. But with <em> you </em>... your vessel cannot die. Therefore it could be used time and time again to try different routes in curing various diseases-- such as the aforementioned."</p><p>"--I know it sounds distasteful, William," Stanford continued, fixing Will's eyes with his, "But your help could revolutionize the field of medical science. Figure out a reliable way to save thousands of millions of lives. And it wouldn't require you to look up, or understand, or figure out any of it. Only to allow me to try, and to sleep sometimes, and to answer my questions. Now-- you don't have to make a decision either way just yet. I know it may be a difficult thing to... convince oneself to do."</p><p>"You-- you don't know how to fix people sometimes?" Will asked, startled. "I can try to fix them--"</p><p>"You can't be everywhere, fixing everyone, all at once. This, I believe, is the best and most effective solution. This way, even when you depart from our dimension, your help will last. Would you think it over for me, William? Perhaps while we go outside?"</p><p>"I-- don't need to think. I want to help people. I-- I don't want everyone to die."</p><p>Stanford smiled at him. "Very good, William. That's very kind of you... Now, true to my word, I will take you outside. Just a short trip for now, to the gardens, where you will be safe and it will be fine of you still float a bit. We can work on walking later, hmm?"</p><p>Outside? Now?</p><p>A wine grin split Will's face as he followed Stanford out the door.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>And here are some older drawings I forgot to post lol<br/></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0035"><h2>35. Oh Dam is it Finally Fluff Time??</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I wrote a bunch of this while crying that’s all I’m gonna say because I can’t trigger warning an author's note.</p><p>All this to say updates may be a bit slooooower, but I did decide to do some of the comfort that’s part of the package of hurt/comfort for once, so that’ll help both Bill and me probably.</p><p>Also yeah its pretty short, but there <i><b>will</b></i> be more fluff in the next chapter~ its just too long to slap on the end of this one without dragging it out and taking away from this bit</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The next day, Dipper had the beginnings of a plan.</p><p>They of course had a ton of shit to cover. He was planning to start with something easy, both for him (hopefully) and for Bill.</p><p>Hygiene, mostly. Bill would probably appreciate feeling cleaner and healthier, and might be more willing to let Dipper teach him basic manners, like chew with your mouth closed and don't attempt unsolicited murder.</p><p>
  <em> So! </em>
</p><p>Once they were done with breakfast, and Bill was back in his room, and Stanford was busy helping Mabel with a strange creature she'd seen outside (it had been a bluff, he'd texted her the night before. Once she got him absolutely and successfully distracted, she was going to try and sneak down to help him. Plus, Dipper felt she might be the easiest one to start working Bill around to warming up to-- and frankly he could use the help dealing with the demon.)</p><p>He went ahead and let himself in, cracking the door behind him and wedging his notebook in between in and the doorframe.</p><p>Dipper did <em> not </em> want a repeat of last week.</p><p>"What are you doing?" snarled a voice behind him.</p><p>Which, actually, <em> was </em> progress because Bill had stayed put where he was while doing so, lounging on his blankets with his chin on one fist, like he'd been interrupted from posing as a brooding antagonist in a cartoon.</p><p>"You agreed to let me help you."</p><p>"What are you doing now, specifically, then?" Bill asked, not without obvious annoyance.</p><p>Dipper ignored him for a moment, crouching down and setting the lantern on the floor. He flipped it on. It was made for camping, so it had a pretty good light output, and was fairly (hopefully) smash-proof. The label had said something about safety glass, too.</p><p>Bill scrunched his nose at the sudden light.</p><p>It was hard to tell sometimes, especially straight on, that his pupil was a bit weirdly slitted. But in the lit up room, he noticed it shrink a little in the brightness, before Bill screwed his eye shut. (He remembered very well what was on the 'Bipper' page of his great-uncle's journal. He'd kind of obsessively read and re-read it in the days after the incident, like he was trying to convince himself it wasn't a fever dream. And that it was over.)</p><p>But he did have the eye thing going on, even in this form. Reminded him of a lizard maybe? Or a cat.</p><p>Dipper gave Bill a moment to adjust to the light (and re-psych himself up for the proposal he was about to make.)</p><p>"Allllright. So I figured we could start with-- you know, helping you deal with a human body?" Wow, that could <em> not </em> have come out any worse, "--So it's less sucky for you, and I don't have to hear you complain all the time. Sound good?"</p><p>Bill squinted at him (which could have been either the light or suspicion, but Dipper suspected the latter) "Which means what?"</p><p>"Right now, something easy." Dipper held up a hairbrush.</p><p>"Y-- oh gods, you're serious, aren't you?" Bill rolled over onto his side, fluffing his hair a little. "Don't see what's so damn important about this stuff. It's all dead cells and bits anyway."</p><p>"Isn't it... uncomfortable for you, though?"</p><p>"Eh, 's fine. Plus you can always tear it out or whatever."</p><p><em> "Do not </em> tear you hair out, Bill."</p><p>"What's it to you?"</p><p>Dipper forced himself to take a deep breath. He let it out. "You're just being difficult to be difficult, aren't you?"</p><p>"You catch on quick."</p><p>He pushed himself to his feet and approached the demon, who snapped his head up to look at him, tracking his movement across the room. Dipper deliberately kept his hand away from the baton handle as he walked, even though he instinctively wanted to grab it, and sat down again, closer this time. "We gonna do this or what?"</p><p>Bill sat up himself, rolling his neck a bit (it cracked in a weird way that made Dipper nearly wince.) "Fine," he held out a hand.</p><p>"You think you can do it yourself?"</p><p>"Can't be that hard."</p><p>Dipper let him have it. He was fairly confident Bill would ask for his help soon anyway.</p><p>After all, he had a bit of a theory to test. Starting out with this, to make it easier for Bill... wasn't entirely and objectively his only reasoning.</p><p>He'd noticed a while back that Bill responded really weird to being touched. For all intent and purposes, he seemed to hate it-- but in the Mindscape, when Dipper had impulsively reached out and touched him... and ended up 'petting' one of his sides, for lack of a better word... he had calmed down really fast. He'd also gotten really defensive after the fact— which led Dipper to believe he might have liked it.</p><p>After all, human (and most generally physical) bodies were wired to crave affection. And it'd be nice to have an actual method of calming Bill down from his tantrums. And maybe making him less flinch-y and uptight all the time. That could <em> not </em> be fun for him-- and frankly wasn't for anyone else involved, either.</p><p>As predicted, Bill managed to get the brush thoroughly lodged in his matted tangle of hair pretty quickly. Luckily he'd washed it recently, but someone who didn't exactly have a handle on bodies or their upkeep couldn't have been to keen on that process anyway. Besides, it wasn't like he'd ever exactly combed his hair after it. Probably just dumped soap on himself, rinsed it off, and called it a day.</p><p>Dipper sighed. <em> "Now </em>, are you ready to let me help you?"</p><p>Bill glared at him, and attempted (once again unsuccessfully) to dislodge the brush. He rolled his eye.</p><p>"I'm taking that as a yeah," Dipper said, and scooted over slightly, to Bill's side. (He wasn't sure how the demon would react to him moving out of his line of sight, especially when he was armed.) He gripped the brush handle with one hand and wiggled it a little. Yep. Definitely stuck. "Oh yes, <em> please </em>help me Dipper, I've hopelessly failed at human-ing."</p><p><em> "Ha ha, </em> very funny--HEY. Jeez. Are you <em> trying </em>to tear out half my hair?"</p><p>"I thought you didn't care about that."</p><p>Bill just huffed, kind of loosely shrugging his shoulders as he did so. Dipper could quite help smirking a little as he worked-- luckily, Bill couldn't see it or he'd probably <em> really </em> be pissed. He hated getting his ego bruised, and two blows might be pushing it.</p><p>After a bit, he managed to work the thing out of Bill's hair and started on the actual process of brushing it. He'd had some practice before, on longer hair, with Mabel (and himself-- he'd had an experimental phase in middle school he wasn't too proud of. Still, even his own hair hadn't gotten this bad. This was a bit of a hopeless task, honestly.)</p><p>Bill kept his head turned enough to keep a proper eye on Pine Tree. He wasn’t 100-percent-and-totally sure what the deal here was (—HAH, <em> deal—) </em>but he was willing to tolerate it for now.</p><p>Besides, he deserved to have to tolerate a little of something stupid. Because last night had been a bit of a blunder. It had taken all of his self control and then some to keep from shredding Pine Tree’s mind on the spot and leave him as a tattered, drooling vegetable for the rest of his life. (Worse than Glasses, for sure.)</p><p>But that would be counterproductive.</p><p>It was lucky, although a bit… embarrassing… that he’d been caught in the middle of viewing his favorite dream. Because at least he’d had a piece of sanity to hold on to to <em> not </em> decimate Pine Tree’s consciousness then and there. And he was fairly sure Pine Tree wouldn’t know the significance of the thing. After all, to him, it probably looked something like the townside lake here. Nothing more, nothing less. (Then again, when he’d started fraying the strings trying to climb out, something might have slipped. And maybe Bill’s vehemence that he left might have tipped him off a little. Shit.)</p><p>Bill held himself perfectly and serenely still as Pine Tree worked (or attempted to.) He’d told himself straight out at the beginning of it that there would be rules. No wincing. No flinching. No… no sounds (gods forbid <em> whimpering.) </em></p><p>No matter how much it hurt or how much he hated it or how close Pine Tree got.</p><p>Same sort of policy applied as always. There would be no one to catch him if he broke and fell. So he had to hold himself together if he wanted <em> not </em> to go completely off the deep end. Push through everything, and when it was over, ‘stitch up’ his wounds as best he could.</p><p>He’d learned very quickly that the only one who ever had your best interest truly and certainly at heart was <em> you. </em></p><p>And he was damn well gonna survive.</p><p>He was strong and witty and charming and disarming and not broken, not in the important ways, and he <em> ALWAYS </em>survived. So there.</p><p>Bill could feel Pine Tree breathing. </p><p>It was a light, hot breath on the side of his neck, that hitched sometimes when the brush caught. Always accompanied by a bit more faintly painful tugging and a belated exhale. It almost made his skin crawl. For Pine Tree to be that close, that his breathing was a constant steady heat and rhythm…</p><p>Too close.</p><p>The only part of Pine Tree that ever made physical contact was his hands. Moving around and with the brush, tugging on or smoothing a bit of his hair, running through it after every few brushstrokes. The hand was gentle. The brushing wasn’t always. And the hand always surprised him a little. A very sudden, soft warmth. It didn’t linger, or press. Just doing whatever Pine Tree needed it to do to straighten things out and continue.</p><p>It… reminded him, faintly, of much earlier days. They were a bit blurry now, and that was on purpose. Those were the days Bill tried to forget the most.</p><p>When he had first started living with… with <em> them, </em>things hadn’t gone to shit immediately. There had been times like this. Times where he sat in the grass under the sun of a near-identical solar system, only a few realities past. Slow, lazy conversations. A gentle hand. Skin against his own, brand-new skin. A semblance of safety.</p><p>These were the things which were bad. These were the things that drew you in and made you stupid. These were the things you got <em> addicted </em> to.</p><p>These were the things Pine Tree was doing, right now, to him.</p><p>Sure, he said it was to help him. But he wasn’t the first to try that, not even the first iteration of himself.</p><p>Bill wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t stupid.</p><p>It may be that this kind of thing felt ‘nice,’ to a body with a nervous system. It may be that after a while, time after time, when nothing bad happened and it was just the faint almost-hissing sound of the brush and both of their breathing, and slowly things got less painful and it was just fingers and bristles running through his hair in a nice kind of way that almost made him want to close his eyes, almost made him feel like melting…</p><p>Bill blinked. He’d… he’d had some sort of train of thought going, he was pretty sure. It had felt important. Full of careful caution. He could probably dredge it up and remember it if he concentrated, although part of his mind was trying to dissect what had just happened, and whether he’d really just <em> fallen asleep, </em> or if his thoughts had just gone all fuzzy-out-of-focus.</p><p>But also. He could just not.</p><p>He hadn’t really ever… <em> relaxed </em>this much. Not since he got here. Not since he had to put the vulnerable-ish side of him completely on lockdown (a cage complete with bars of iron will and wreaths of pretty little white lies, just to spruce it up a bit.)</p><p>And he kind of wanted to hold onto it. It was stupid. And he felt <em> guilty. </em></p><p>He owed it to himself not to give in to things like this. He owed it to himself to watch the cage and keep the keys tightly gripped in his fist.</p><p>He owed it to himself not to be a complete and total dumbass.</p><p>And despite all that, <em> here he was. </em></p><p>Disregarding his own warnings almost entirely because he was tired, and this felt good, and what could it hurt, <em> just this once… </em></p><p>One time. One and ONLY one time. Dead serious.</p><p>Because otherwise, he would have to give himself consequences.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thanks for anyone who's commented anything at all, kudosed, subbed, or even just read this far<br/>like<br/>if youre still reading this at <i>all</i> thank you from the bottom of my heart fam</p><p> </p><p>--and also for you guys whove pointed out my spelling mistakes lol, you save my ass sometimes</p><p>anyways here's a smol happy chibi bill!</p><p>
  
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<a name="section0036"><h2>36. Sinking Star</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>
  
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    <p>Oh.</p><p>
  <em> WOW. </em>
</p><p>Yeah, Mabel was used to surprises, but she sure as heaven wasn’t ready for this one. Or knew how to feel about it, at all. So she filed it away in her To-Be-Figured-Out closet (which was getting kinda full—) and went ahead on in the room.</p><p>What had she seen?</p><p>Well, <em> you </em> try to guess.</p><p>What was her nerdy twin brother doing with the extremely evil spaz of a dorito demon?</p><p>If you guessed <em> combing his hair </em>, you’d be dead right. Although, if you guessed that right off the bat, maybe you should be concerned about yourself.</p><p>Because, <em> whaaaa? </em></p><p>Dipper was kneeling on the floor, perpendicular to Bill and watching him with his sorta scrunched up Figuring-Things-Out Face, which was a lot like Grunkle Ford’s Figuring-Things-Out-Face. Except it looked sillier on Dipper.</p><p>Bill himself was not trying to get away, or shove him off, or even annoy him to death with sass or anything. He was just sitting there, cross-legged and a bit hunched over, with his eye half-closed, kinda just staring out into space.</p><p>Which begged the question, just what in mcfriggin heck had happened? Also, how long had this been going on? And also, <em> WHAT? </em></p><p>Mabel leaned down to pick up Dipper’s notebook, which was being used as a doorjamb, probably to prevent another impromptu sleepover in Bill’s room. She let herself in, and slid it back into place, because she too did not want to attend an impromptu sleepover in Bill’s room.</p><p>Bill’s eye snapped open, and for a split second he just looked confused.</p><p>He kinda started to get up but also stopped, and opened his mouth a bit to maybe snark at her, but also didn’t do that, and in the end just stayed where he was and gave her the ol’ evil eye.</p><p>She offered a little wave in return.</p><p>Dipper pulled the brush back from Bill’s hair, which actually looked pretty good now. All the tangles and frizz had been worked out, which must have taken at least a bajillion years (maybe twenty minutes.) And it seemed that Dipper had just kept going.</p><p>Didn’t want to break the spell, probably. Although how he even managed to get Bill to agree to that, was mystery in itself.</p><p>She was sure he’d tell her, though. They were the <em> Mystery Twins </em>, after all. But now? Not a good time.</p><p>So she came over and sat on Dipper’s other side, not too close to Bill since she was a <em> little </em>anxious about that, and also Bill looked very uncomfortable.</p><p>Starting over. Boundaries.</p><p>Also, maybe making... not friends, but... maybe acquaintances? Or non-mortal-enemies? Or two-people-who-are-just-kinda-meh-about-each-other?</p><p> "Hi, Bill," Mabel said.</p><p>She was used to being fairly confident around people, strangers or not. She was just a people-y kind of person, y'know? And conversations weren't that hard to start-- at least, not as hard as Dipper made them sound. There was literally nothing stopping you from approaching someone and saying, "Hi! I'm Mabel! Do you like cows?"</p><p>And BAM. There you go. Instant conversation!</p><p>If they gave you the cold shoulder, or didn't like cows and maybe you were a cow and that offended you, then just move on to the next person. There were literally thousands of millions of <em> bajillions </em>of them.</p><p>But this was an exception, for her. And it was weird.</p><p>It wasn't like she had to even explain why talking to Bill Cipher was a bit of a chore-- but was this how Dipper felt <em> all </em> the time?</p><p>Like, Bill was just staring at her, very silently and very meanly. And it kinda seemed like she'd interrupted something. Interrupted Dipper's progress with him.</p><p>"...Hi," he said back, finally. It sounded a bit forced, but not nearly as hostile as his face would have suggested it to be.</p><p>Just 'hi.' And back to staring.</p><p>Mabel played with the bangles on her wrists a bit. They were all miss-matched-- some green, some gold, some silver with beads --and they made a whole weird amalgamation of clinky sounds. Kind of musical, if you thought about it. (She wondered if she could write a song played only by clanking jewelry. Probably. And it would sound pretty darn good to. A percussion arrangement...)</p><p>She didn't really notice she was making a bit of a racket, experimenting with the different sounds she could make right here right now, until Dipper leaned forward a bit. Mabel paused, expecting him to ask her to stop, and then maybe shake her bangles in his face for a few seconds as a friendly little taunt. But he wasn't leaning one-hundred-percent toward her. Almost around to the side, and he was looking at Bill.</p><p>Which of course made her look at him as well.</p><p>It appeared that he'd also gotten a bit distracted by the bracelets, and well--</p><p>It wasn't like they were hard to miss? They were very bright, and colorful, and the ones set with fake jewels and glass (and the one that maybe had something real in it because it had been a gift from Pacifica) caught the lamplight, which was bright-- the lamp itself was almost at her feet. There were a few speckles of reflected color across the floor. (Oooh, she should make a kaleidoscope sometime! That would be so cool. But where would she get the glass? Hmm. Store, maybe? Or broken bottles, and things, and maybe if she...)</p><p>She realized she's zoned out staring right at Bill. And she realized this because he made a kind of small, annoyed, growl-y sound, like he was getting very angry at her puny mortal self staring blankly into his brilliance, <em> haha. </em></p><p>To diffuse the situation (and because she now had a handy maybe-conversation-starter) she flicked her wrists again (drawing attention to the bracelets) and asked him what he thought.</p><p>"Of... those?" He narrowed his eye, a bit suspiciously.</p><p>"Yeah. I don't have anything like, super important to talk about right now, and you seemed interested in them? So why not?"</p><p>Bill considered this for a long moment, shifting a little. His upper body swayed the tiniest bit as he thought, blinked, shot a side-glance at Dipper to see if he was making a face at him or her, and then looked back towards Mabel. Just-almost eye contact, but not quite.</p><p>"They're fine, if you're into that sort of thing."</p><p>"And are you?" she prompted. She wasn't going to let him get away with a non-response. Because, really? She was trying to have a <em> conversation. </em></p><p>And she knew if their roles were reversed he'd have no problem pressing her on things <em> he </em> wanted to talk about. That is-- if he even left them alive for long enough to have a conversation. But she suspected he might, given that he seemed to be all about drama and entertainment. When he wasn't, like, scared shitless of them or whatever.</p><p>Being mortal <em> kinda </em> did that to ya, if you let it.</p><p>And Mabel was ninety-nine point nine nine percent sure that Bill being human meant Bill being mortal.</p><p>There was another bit of a pause as Bill considered his next answer.</p><p>"I'm not gonna tease you if you are, silly," she told him. Because she wasn't mean like that, and also, <em> she </em> thought they were neat. Mabel Pines was all for jewelry and shiny things and neat little knick-knacks.</p><p>"Yes," Bill said, finally.</p><p>"Cool. Want one?"</p><p>He looked almost taken aback by her offer. And since they were fairly close to each other, and the lightening was good, she noticed his cat-eye pupil shrink just the tiniest bit. "In exchange for what?"</p><p>"For nothing. I have, like, enough of these to swim in probably. What's one less?" She slid one of the bracelets off (envisioning in one corner of her mind a swimming pool filled with bracelets, and if it would even be possible to swim in them Dipper would probably know.) One of the more simple ones, a metal band that had been either painted or coated in something warm and gold. She let it rest on the palm of her open hand.</p><p>"Nothing physical or nonphysical?"</p><p>"Nothing means nothing," Mabel shrugged. She twirled the gold band around her finger a few times, wondering what he meant by nonphyscial. Well, he was a demon right? Didn't demons try to get people to sell their souls? Well, she sure as anything didn't want his. Yech,</p><p>She tossed the bracelet at his lap. "Catch!"</p><p>Surprisingly, he did, kind of snatch-grabbing at it in the air. Not super graceful, but still impressive since he was in a whole different body. Heck-- when she and Dipper had switched bodies it'd been confusing, even though back then they were shaped the same (with the exception of her being a lil bit taller, haha. <em> Alpha twin.) </em></p><p>Bill turned the bangle around in his hands a few times, inspecting it. He brought it up to his eye to squint at it like he was a manic detective interviewing a suspect just hours before the case was to be closed. All suspicious-like and squinty and kinda angry. Then he <em> bit </em> it.</p><p>Which probably should have been less startling than it was because he probably didn't know any better but-- still.</p><p>He just put a random object in his mouth. Like, he had no way to tell where it had been?</p><p>And he clicked his teeth down on it a few times. Then, apparently satisfied, he slipped it onto his left wrist.</p><p>"Bill," Dipper said, once the demon's little demonstration had wrapped up. "Thank her."</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"Say 'thank you.'"</p><p>“Wh-- her?” Bill snapped his head around to look at Dipper. And the expression of ‘righteous’ indignation on his face sort of froze. And he gave her brother a small, almost-nod.</p><p>He didn’t face her while he spoke to her.</p><p>“Fine. Thank you. Mistress.” The last word was practically ground out.</p><p>Dipper pinched the bridge of his nose, looking a bit exasperated. “You don’t have to call her that. You just had to thank her. I wasn’t-- <em> no.” </em></p><p>As you might guess, by the end of this Mabel’s jaw was practically on the floor.</p><p>Bill. Had listened. To <em> The Duke of Dork-hood Dipper. </em></p><p>The title, the ‘Mistress,’ bugged her though, itching at her mind. Something she had tried to forget. Something from that first summer.</p><p><em> YOU CAN CALL ME YOUR NEW LORD AND </em> MASTER <em> FOR ALL ETERNITY! </em></p><p>A torn and bleeding sky. Overzealous, ever-present laughter as physics broke and people turned to living stone, and that monster held her and her brother tight and wondered over which to kill first like he was deciding something as casual as what to have for breakfast.</p><p>The reason she’d woken, soaked from sweat and tears and stumbled out onto the porch, cold fresh air like a slap to the face, to find Dipper already there. Dark circles under their eyes, therapy that never helped because no, neither of them were insane.</p><p>(Or were they? And would it be better that way?)</p><p>The reason that whenever she had to deal with cash she folded her thumb over the small paper triangle, hiding it from view.</p><p>The single, slitted eye that watched her even now. The heavy, sick feeling pooling within her like a bitter syrup.</p><p>And from a great distance, Mabel heard her own voice catch in her throat. She heard her own sobbing.</p><p>It sounded like the sobbing of the girl she still dreamed about sometimes. The girl who had been strong enough to get through this. The girl who had outwitted the monster with spray paint and glitter and her own brand of brilliance. </p><p>The kind she’d inherited from her Grunkle Stan.</p><p>It sounded different, too. Just a little.</p><p>Older. There was time between then and now, and ‘then’ was forever-and-always <em> over. </em></p><p>Mabel felt something warm, and blinked open her eyes. Everything looked fuzzy and dark and she slowly uncurled herself enough to poke the top of her head, and her eyes, out of Sweatertown.</p><p>Dipper had left Bill’s side to come to hers, had wrapped an arm around her side and pulled her in to lean her weight against him. Something she had first done for him a long long time ago, when she had caught him in the bathroom with a pair of scissors and shaking hands.</p><p>She let him support her. She ignored the staring eye.</p><p>She lifted a hand to wipe her tears (and snot) on the soft cotton-candy-pink of her sweater sleeve.</p><p>Dipper noticed her straightening, and trying to stand, and he stood with her. And the two of them made their way out of Bill’s room, leaving the all-encompassing walls and the gold-fused light and the monster behind, tucked safely out of sight. Out of mind, for now, because he needed to be.</p><p>They went upstairs.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Heyo! I made a short lil test animation here for Bill and Dipper to one of my favorite songs! You can find it</p><p> </p><p>  <a href="https://youtu.be/q0YyJQacYrU">here</a></p><p> </p><p>on my YouTube channel. :)</p><p>It was based on these concept images of Bill in one of my newer styles:<br/></p>
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<a name="section0037"><h2>37. Bill Cipher's Tomfuckery</h2></a>
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    <p>Okay oh fuck okay so uh HUGE NEWS UHHHH</p><p>One Way <em>is a fucking SHOW NOW.</em></p><p>
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    <strong>H̷̜̻̬̪̅̓͑̕H̸̡̦̻̖͇̼̫̀̄ͅH̶̨̬͖͇̹̻͈̠͑̐̂̾H̴̹͉̟͒̊̓͆̎̉̄͆͋̕H̶͙̩͎̽̇̋̑̅͠͠R̵͖̪͇͉͉̘͖̜̓̐̓̿͌̉͂G̴̨͓̅R̸̫̞̮̲͙͍͔̜̊̅͛͜G̸̢̠̞̭̻̋̂́̉̔͜͝R̷̢̗̻̘̪͖̼̃̈́͂͛̀͝ͅḤ̸̡̜̯͛̄̓̿G̷̤̻̱̙̊͒̐͐̄͂̉̓͜ͅH̴̨̨̛̲̮͇̝̠͇̹̮͐͊H̸̼͚̪̠̪̑̎̋͒H̸̡̨̟̼̞̯̜̳̓̂̚͠H̷̲̜̃H̷̢͉͇̎͒͝H̶͖̥̬̦̤̬̠̙̹͚͒̊̔</strong>
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</p><p> </p><p>GVAbdbsadkjn</p><p>SO.</p><p>There are two episodes right now I think but it's like AN HOUR TOTAL of CONTENT???</p><p>Ima link them here uhdhsavbdbhajklmsdfhnsjmbGVBKJgbvwsndghqavdbj</p><p>
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    <strong>SORRY IM JUST FUCKIN I CANT IM FUCKING LIKE THANK YOU MAN</strong>
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  <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-vzoA8qZGBQ&amp;t=3s">Bill cipher's tomfuckery: a skit</a>
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  <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L1-hiivaGQg&amp;t=1006s">bill cipher's tomfuckery: bill assaults various public businesses</a>
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<a name="section0038"><h2>38. All Over Again</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>
  <i><br/>    <b>YA BOI IS BACK FROM THE HOSPITAL</b><br/>  </i>
</p><p> </p><p>this is a super super short (but hopefully sweet?) bit because i felt the need to update now that ive been home for a day<br/>gearing up for some more angst, but in the meantime have a somft grunkle stan</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Stan was on the couch in the living room, half-watching the TV on mute and listening to the sounds of the gift shop (--the murmur of customers, the shuffle of feet, the musical clinking of the register--) when Mabel and Dipper came in.</p><p>They entered through the gift shop door, but even if they’d come up through the elevator it’d probably be fine. This town was weird enough as it was, and nevermind all that anyway.</p><p>“Whaddaya kids need?” he asked, glancing up and over-- then he saw the tears, and the hard-pressed grimace on Dipper’s face, and he knew.</p><p>Stan sighed. “You know I’d rather you not go down there.”</p><p>“He’s not going anywhere,” Dipper said, “and, it’s not really--”</p><p>“Humane? No. Humane woulda been shooting him on the spot.”</p><p>A quiet sniffle.</p><p>Dipper seemed to remember himself, and pulled his sister forward with him. Stan opened his arms, and she flopped into them.</p><p>What was a little snot and some tears on an already desiccated nightshirt?</p><p>Stan looped an arm around her back, feeling a bit awkward, and lifted her into his lap like he’d done when she was small. “Hey. Hey now. You’re okay.”</p><p>A small sort of mumble.</p><p>“What was that?”</p><p>“I-- kinda sorta-- wish he hadn’t come back.”</p><p>“You and me both, kiddo. Thought we’d good and processed all that, and now it feels like it’s happening all over again, doesn’t it?”</p><p>“Mmhm.”</p><p>“Yeah? Well, it’s not. Things ain’t the same as they were. He can’t hurt you now. Hell, if you wanted to you could probably deck him into next week. You’re safe.”</p><p>She was starting to soak through his shirt, whispering into his shoulder. “Promise?”</p><p>“Promise.”</p><p>Stan ruffled her hair a bit. “You’re a strong young woman. You’ll get through this just fine.”</p><p>His eye wandered over to Dipper, who was watching anxiously from the side, shifting his weight a bit from foot to foot and playing with the hem of his jacket.</p><p>Dipper’s eyes darted up to meet his, and they silently agreed then and there that they wouldn’t discuss Bill like that in front of Mabel.</p><p>As for her?</p><p>Stan was content enough to hold her as long as she needed to be held.</p><p>Life went on in the background. Customers gawked and chattered. The TV switched from commercials to reruns of Baby Fights. Eventually, Dipper settled down at the foot of Stan’s chair to join them.</p><p>The can of Pitt Cola that had been balanced precariously on the armrest fell with a tiny <em> clunk! </em>and emptied itself on the floor.</p><p>No one bothered to pick it up.</p>
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<a name="section0039"><h2>39. im taking a break. heres why</h2></a>
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    <p>hey uhhh</p><p>lotsa stuff been goin on down in lemonsville and</p><p>this fic is gonna have to be on hold for a few weeks probably</p><p>i AM planning to pick it back up</p><p>but right now i cant</p><p>i need to work on something else before i burn out entirely</p><p> </p><p>love yall &lt;3</p>
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